Chapter 12:Fractures
821 Words
Valentina didn’t sleep.
She lay awake on the far side of the bed, the scent of Lucien still in the sheets, her thoughts racing. His silence, Kael’s face, the word sister. It all tangled in her chest like smoke and wire.
Lucien hadn’t tried to explain. Not really.
And that—more than anything—hurt.
When dawn bled into the sky, soft and gray, she got up, dressed quietly, and walked out. Past the guards, down the spiral stairs. No one stopped her. Maybe they knew better now.
She found him in the west wing, shirtless, sword in hand, sparring with shadows.
His movements were lethal—graceful, angry. Every swing, every strike, bled tension.
“You lied to me,” she said from the doorway.
Lucien froze.
He turned, chest heaving, eyes rimmed with red. “I didn’t lie. I withheld.”
She stepped inside. “You protected me by keeping the truth? About my mother? About Kael?”
“I was trying to give you time to adjust. You don’t know what you are yet. What you were born to do.”
She crossed her arms. “Then tell me now. All of it.
Lucien dropped the sword. “Your mother wasn’t just fireborn. She was royal. The last of a bloodline meant to balance darkness. And you—”
“What about me?” she whispered.
“You were never meant to be hidden. You were meant to rule.”
Valentina’s breath caught. “And Kael?”
Lucien looked away. “Your twin. Separated at birth to keep you both alive. The Council thought one child could be controlled. Two… was too dangerous.”
She sat down slowly, heart pounding. “And you knew this. All along.”
“I made a deal to keep you safe. I broke vows, betrayed allies. I’d do it again.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
He stepped forward. “Because I knew the second you found out, you’d stop looking at me like I was your choice—and start seeing me as your cage.”
Her eyes glistened. “And now?”
He touched her face gently. “Now I see I was wrong. You’re not fragile. You’re *furious*. And that fire—gods help anyone who tries to put it out.”
She leaned into his touch for just a second… then pulled away.
“I need time, Lucien.”
His jaw clenched. “I’ll wait.”
Valentina turned toward the doors. But before she left, she said quietly, “Don’t wait too long.”
Because if she was going to burn, she’d do it on her own terms.
—
Valentina stood there for a heartbeat longer, her spine straight, her eyes unreadable. But Lucien saw it—the crack beneath her cool exterior. The one only he could feel now through their bond.
The pain. The confusion. The ache.
He took a step closer, but didn’t touch her. Couldn’t.
“I should have told you,” he said again, voice hoarse. “Every time you looked at me like you trusted me, I wanted to rip the lie out of my throat. But I was afraid the truth would take you from me.”
Valentina turned her head, eyes glassy. “Then maybe you should’ve trusted me too.”
That silenced him.
She brushed past him, the edge of her cloak grazing his arm. The contact was electric, even now. She paused at the door, voice barely audible.
“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” she whispered. “But I can’t stop wanting you.”
Lucien’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t have to forgive me yet,” he murmured. “Just don’t shut me out.”
She hesitated, then slipped out the door, leaving Lucien in the stillness of his guilt.
He dropped to the bench behind him, running both hands through his hair.
Through the bond, he still felt her—restless, conflicted, alive.
But drifting.
—
Valentina wandered the castle halls, letting her fury keep her warm. But despite the anger, her thoughts spiraled back to him. The way he’d looked at her like she was both salvation and storm. The way his touch still haunted her skin.
She wasn’t ready to go back to him.
But gods, she wasn’t ready to let him go either.
She ended up in the library—her mother’s old journals still tucked behind enchanted glass. She opened one, hands trembling.
A page fluttered loose, falling to the floor.
On it was a sketch.
Two infants. Twins.
One wrapped in flame. The other, shrouded in night.
And a note scrawled at the bottom:
“If they ever reunite, the world will burn or be reborn.”
Valentina stared at the words until they blurred.
The truth was out now. But the choice ahead was hers.
She would decide who she became.
—
- Writer
