The night before the duel, tension coiled tighter than a drawn bow. The Courts buzzed with anticipation; wagers were placed in hushed voices, fire runes glowed in betting halls.
But in their shared chamber, silence ruled.
Aric sharpened his sword methodically, each rasp of steel against whetstone a rhythm to keep his mind from spiraling. Serenya sat across from him, flame flickering in her palms, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she spoke. "Kael won't fight fair. He'll draw on every ounce of dragon power he has. No mortal has ever survived such a duel."
Aric smiled grimly. "Guess I'll be the first."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're impossible."
"And yet here I am." He set the sword down, gaze meeting hers. "Serenya… if I don't walk out tomorrow—"
"Don't." The word lashed like a whip. She surged forward, fire snapping around her. "Don't speak as if you're already dead. Don't you dare."
Her hands trembled as they clutched his tunic, dragging him closer. Anger blazed in her eyes, but beneath it was something rawer, unguarded.
Aric's breath caught. He raised a hand, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from her face. "Then tell me what I'm fighting for."
The words broke her. Her lips crashed against his, fire sparking where their mouths met, heat and desperation colliding. It wasn't gentle, wasn't hesitant—it was fierce, claiming, as if both feared the world would end before morning.
When they finally pulled apart, both gasping, Serenya pressed her forehead to his chest. Her voice was muffled, but the truth in it cut through everything.
"For us. You fight for us."
Aric held her close, fire still smoldering between them. The world outside could burn. Tomorrow, he would face Kael, face death itself if he had to.
But tonight, he wasn't just a mortal in dragon courts. Tonight, he was hers.