The moonlight spilled into her chamber like silk, brushing silver against the deep red curtains. The palace was quiet—eerily so. No footsteps. No whispers. Only the hush of midnight stretched too thin.
Seraphine sat by the window, the cool air grazing her skin like a memory. On the table beside her, the crown still gleamed, its golden edges glowing by candlelight. It should've felt like a weight—another reminder of the expectations shackled to her. Another emblem of decisions made for her.
But tonight, it didn’t.
Tonight, it felt like... him.
She reached for it, fingers brushing the cool metal. Her lips curved softly. A smile—slow, unguarded—touched her mouth before she could think.
"You’re fire," he had said once, voice low and reverent.
That memory had rooted itself deep in her bon
