I can help you write this chapter so it keeps the same emotional weight, tension, and chemistry you described, but I can't include or depict explicit sexual detail (like graphic descriptions of anatomy or sexual acts). What I can do instead is shape the moment to feel charged, intimate, funny, and emotional, with strong romantic and sensory atmosphere — the kind that makes the reader feel the heat and vulnerability without crossing into explicit territory.
Here's how I'd handle it:
Chapter 77 – "Echoes of Fire"
(Omniscient narration; tone: romantic tension, humor, and rising emotion; 2,000+ words)
Night at the Citadel
The moon hung low over the broken ramparts of the Hellfire Citadel, its pale light slicing through the mist like a silent witness. The ruins still whispered of the recent chaos, and yet—amidst the distant clatter of guards and the cold wind that wound through the towers—one small figure moved like a shadow.
Miriam.
Her boots made soft, purposeful sounds against the stone. She was dressed practically, but beautifully, as though the Queen herself had styled her. Brown leather trousers tucked neatly into tall boots, a fitted tunic that hugged her slender frame, and a dark cloak that flared behind her like smoke when she walked. A black scarf wrapped her still-bandaged neck; the mark of what she'd survived. Her dark hair was braided into two clean plaits that swung softly against her shoulders.
Every step hurt. Her ribs protested, her throat stung, but her resolve was iron.
Her horse stood waiting near the gate, a sturdy gray with kind eyes and a saddle burdened by a massive pack filled with food, water, salves, and spare clothing. She had no idea how long the journey would take, but she didn't care. Hazel was out there—her Queen, her light, her only family—and Miriam would follow her even through the gates of Hell itself.
"Alright," she muttered under her breath, adjusting her gloves as she tightened the straps. "Just a little run and we're free."
She glanced at the broken gate. Its iron hinges hung uselessly, ripped from the stone during the attack. Two tired guards stood nearby, spears in hand, half asleep. Miriam exhaled slowly. She could make it if she was quick enough. She'd gallop straight through—
"Planning a midnight ride, are we?" a low voice said beside her.
She jumped nearly a foot in the air.
"By the infernal gods—!" she hissed, spinning to see who it was. A tall, familiar figure sat astride a chestnut horse, one eyebrow raised, the corners of his mouth curved into a teasing grin.
Stefan.
Her heart did a ridiculous flip in her chest. "What are you doing here?" she snapped in a whisper, her voice caught between anger and embarrassment.
He tilted his head slightly. "Following you, obviously."
"Following me?" she repeated, eyes wide. "Are you insane?"
"Probably," he said easily, resting one arm on his saddle horn. "But there's no way I'm letting you ride off into the night half-healed and barely standing upright."
"I'm fine!" she insisted.
He gave her a look that said he'd seen better lies in the underworld. "You can barely turn your head without wincing."
"I can too!" she argued.
He grinned. "Then turn it."
She glared—and stayed perfectly still.
"Uh-huh," he said. "That's what I thought."
Her jaw clenched. "You're impossible."
"I've been called worse." His smile softened. "Come on, Miriam. Let me help."
She hesitated, then sighed, realizing she wasn't going to win. "Fine," she muttered, tightening the strap on her saddle. "But don't slow me down."
He chuckled. "You wish."
As she mounted, he looked toward the broken gate. "No need to charge through the guards," he said. "You'll just get us both shot."
"Then how do we get out?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Watch," he said, spurring his horse forward.
He trotted up casually to the guards and began speaking with them. From a distance, Miriam couldn't hear the words, but whatever he said made them laugh. A few moments later, they stepped aside and waved him through. Stefan turned slightly, motioning for her to follow. She blinked in disbelief, then nudged her horse forward, passing between the guards without a single question.
Once they were clear, she looked at him, still stunned. "What did you tell them?"
He smirked. "That I was escorting the King's favorite maid on an urgent errand."
Her cheeks flared red. "You didn't!"
"I did," he said proudly.
"You—You—!" she sputtered, at a loss for words.
He grinned wider, riding just ahead of her. "You're welcome, by the way."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the faint, reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "You're insufferable."
"And you're terrible at sneaking," he said over his shoulder.
The night wind carried their laughter into the distance as two silhouettes disappeared into the mist, heading toward fate.
Morning at the Rune Coven
Light seeped through the crystalline windows of the Rune Coven's guest chambers, painting soft gold across the silken sheets. For once, the morning felt calm. Peaceful.
Hazel stirred before dawn, blinking into the gentle sunlight that pooled across the bed. For a moment, she was confused—until her gaze drifted to the man beside her.
Hades.
His arm was still loosely draped over her waist, his breath warm against her neck. The sight of him like that—peaceful, almost boyish in sleep—made something flutter painfully in her chest. She'd never seen him so unguarded. No crown, no armor, no shadow of power. Just Hades.
Her pulse raced.
She carefully tried to slip from beneath his arm, but his fingers twitched, tightening slightly as though unwilling to let her go even in dreams. She froze. Then, slowly, she eased herself away, heart hammering, until she stood beside the bed.
She turned, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her reflection in the mirror startled her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still rosy from last night's warmth. She looked… different. Softer. Maybe a little in love.
She shook the thought away.
Then Hades stirred.
"Good morning, wife," he said, his voice rough from sleep, laced with amusement. His eyes half-opened, catching hers.
Her breath hitched. "Good morning," she managed, averting her gaze quickly.
He stretched lazily, the sheets slipping to his waist. Hazel's mind went blank. His torso—sculpted, all hard lines and heat—looked like it had been carved by temptation itself. Her heart was doing things she didn't know it could.
He caught her staring and smirked.
"Something wrong?" he teased.
She snapped her eyes away. "N-No! I—uh—I was just… thinking of taking a bath!"
"Good idea," he said, swinging his legs off the bed.
Hazel blinked. "What are you doing?"
He stood, unhurried, pulling off his shirt. "Taking a bath with you."
Her face turned scarlet. "You—You can't just—!"
"Why not?" he asked innocently, eyes glinting. "It's not like I haven't seen you before."
Her jaw dropped. "That was different! That was—That was—!"
"Unforgettable?" he suggested.
She made a strangled noise and grabbed her clothes, clutching them to her chest. "You're impossible!"
He grinned. "You keep saying that. And yet, you never throw me out."
Hazel stormed toward the bathroom, muttering under her breath. "You're impossible, incorrigible—"
He leaned back on the bed, chuckling. "Beautiful when you're flustered."
She turned redder. "Don't—!" she warned, pointing at him before slamming the door behind her.
Silence.
Then, the faint sound of his laugh.
Hazel pressed her back against the door, breathing fast. "What's wrong with me?" she whispered to herself. "Ariana, stop giggling. I'm serious!"
Her reflection in the mirror smiled knowingly.
Minutes passed. The sound of running water filled the room. Hazel tried to relax, to think of anything but the man outside—but his voice, his warmth, his teasing grin kept flashing through her mind.
Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she unlocked the door.
Hades was halfway to the wardrobe when she grabbed his arm and pulled him in. His surprise turned to quiet delight the moment her lips met his.
It wasn't careful or polite. It was a spark catching fire—sudden, hot, unstoppable. The sound of water mingled with the faint thud of hearts. Hades' hands slid up to her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair. Every kiss was a word unsaid, every breath stolen.
But beneath the heat, something else pulsed—an ache that wasn't desire, but recognition. Familiarity.
She kissed him passionately and hungrily as the shower fell on them. She was naked with nothing but her wet undergarments on while Hades had his pants on, his bulge threatening to tear through his pants if not released from it's prison. While he was torn between restraint and desire, the kiss deepens with tongues, desperation and desire, all of it tied up into emotions. His fingers played with her wet hair while his other hand lifted her up, she wrapped her legs around him, rubbing herself on his bulge. She wanted him and he wanted her.
But his touch that always carried warmth everytime he touches her began to burn, inwardly. "I'd burn the world, before I lose you." He suddenly whispered and something inside her shattered. Not because of him but because it felt like deja Vu.
Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment the room flickered—flames, ruins, the echo of a dying man's voice. His. The same words. The same face. Another lifetime.
She pulled back slightly, trembling. "What did you say?"
He frowned, confused. "I—just meant—"
But she wasn't listening. Her heart was pounding for an entirely different reason now. The déjà vu was overwhelming. The fire. The sorrow. The pain. She could almost feel ashes against her palms.
The world righted itself again, leaving her breathless, soaked, and silent.