Content Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content intended for mature readers (18+). It also includes themes of terminal illness, wartime separation, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.
POV: Seraphina
The fire-scars burned worse tonight.
Seraphina sat at the edge of her bed in the palace chambers she had occupied since the siege ended. The council had dispersed hours ago, but sleep refused to come. Her nightgown was pulled down to her shoulders while Yona's fingers traced the golden marks spreading across her skin. What had started at her wrists now reached past her elbows, branching toward her heart.
Liora stood by the door, her hand resting on her blade even here. She had not left Seraphina's side since the dead stopped walking through the palace corridors.
"How long?" Seraphina asked.
Yona pulled her hands back and wiped them on her apron. The gesture was nervous, which meant the answer was bad. She was still pale from her own brush with the curse, but she had refused to rest while Seraphina needed her.
"The siege healing accelerated the progression. The blood-lock at Whitehall made it worse." Yona cleared her throat. "At this rate, two weeks before the scars reach your heart. Maybe three if you stop using fire completely."
Two weeks. The words hit Seraphina harder than she expected. She stared at the candlelight catching the golden veins on her arms. The cosmic deadline was one thing. Her own body giving out was another.
"The Ember Sanctum ritual would stabilize everything," Yona continued, "but completing it takes time you might not have. Attempting it while weak could kill you faster." She began packing her examination kit, hands moving with too much precision. "You should tell him."
"He rides at first light."
"Then tell him before he goes."
Seraphina pulled her nightgown back up. The fabric brushed against the marks and sent a small shock of pain through her arm. "If I tell him, he won't leave. Three fortresses have gone dark. The barriers are failing. If he stays for me while thousands die at the border..."
"You're allowed to want him here."
"I can want it. I can't ask for it." Seraphina rubbed her arms where the scars throbbed. "Not when the cost is counted in bodies."
A knock at the door made Liora's hand tighten on her blade. She cracked it open, checked the corridor, then looked back at Seraphina with a question in her eyes.
"It's Duke Vorenthal, my lady."
Seraphina's heart stuttered. "Let him in. And Liora, you and Yona take the night off."
Liora hesitated. Her eyes moved between Seraphina and the door, weighing duty against her mistress's clear need for privacy. After a moment, she nodded.
"I'll be in the adjacent chamber if you need anything."
Yona gathered her supplies and crossed to the door. She paused beside Liora. "Whatever you decide tonight, the scars will keep spreading either way. Don't waste what time you have."
The two women slipped out. A moment later, Caelan entered.
He wore his council clothes. Dark circles ringed his eyes. His hair stuck up in places where he'd run his hands through it too many times. He looked exhausted and determined and afraid all at once.
"I couldn't sleep," he said.
"Neither could I."
He pulled off his mask as the door closed behind him. Candlelight caught the exhaustion in his face, the tension around his eyes. She could see the question there, the fear he was trying to hide.
"The council went well?" she asked, because someone had to speak first.
"Well enough. Supply lines are secured. Gravenor rides with the advance force. Three days to the first fortress if weather holds." He rubbed the back of his neck. "All strategy talk. Safe ground when neither of us wants safe."
His hand found her face before she finished processing his words. His thumb traced her cheekbone while his palm pressed warm against her jaw. "I know what you're going to say. Focus on the mission. Trust the plan. Come back safe."
"Am I that predictable?"
"You're that good at hiding when you're scared." His voice dropped lower. "I don't want noble tonight. I want honest."
She didn't answer. She just pulled him closer.
The embrace was tight enough to hurt. His face pressed into her hair and he breathed in deep, holding her against him. She felt his heart hammering through his chest.
"Stay safe," she whispered.
He pulled back enough to look at her face. "I survived the demon general. I survived the curse. You think the border will break me?"
She wanted to believe him. The fire-scars pulsed beneath her nightgown, counting down hours she might not have.
"Stay with me tonight," she said.
His breath caught. "Seraphina..."
"Please." She gripped the front of his shirt. "I know you need rest. I know we should be practical. I don't care about practical right now. I need you here."
Caelan kissed her.
The kiss was urgent and demanding. His hands slid into her hair and tilted her head back while his mouth moved over hers. She felt his desperation, his need, something close to grief in the way he held her.
She kissed him back the same way. Her fingers tangled in his shirt. His hands slid down her back and pulled her closer until no space remained between them.
She intended to remember every part of this.
His hands found the ties of her nightgown, undoing them with shaking fingers.
"Tell me to stop and I will."
"Don't stop." She was already yanking open the buttons of his shirt. "Don't you fucking dare."
The fabric fell to her waist. Cold air kissed bare skin, her shoulders and her spine exposed. He paused, breath catching as his fingers traced the fire-scars etched into her back. Bright branching lines that pulsed faint gold under his touch.
"Sera..."
"They don't hurt," she lied. "Not right now. Stay with me."
His shirt hit the floor. Her hands were already on his chest, greedy and unhesitating. She traced every scar, every notch of hardened muscle, the raised welt on his side where the demon general's attack had almost ended him. He was heat and tension under her palms, alive and solid and real.
They didn't break contact as they stumbled to the bed, mouths locked, teeth clashing. He laid her back against the pillows, braced above her, eyes dark with something primal.
"You're beautiful," he said.
She didn't answer. She just grabbed his wrist and dragged him down into her.
His weight pressed over her, not heavy or rough, just there. She wrapped a leg around his hip, locking him in, and he groaned low into her throat. His mouth moved down her neck in open kisses, dragging heat over her collarbone, his tongue tracing the sharp edge where armor used to rest.
When his lips closed around her nipple, she arched hard beneath him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her fire-scars flared instantly, a surge of gold light lighting her skin from the inside out.
He pulled back. "Does that hurt?"
"No." This time it was truth. "Keep going."
He did. He kissed lower, down her ribs and across her belly, teeth grazing just above her hip. She was already trembling, thighs slick with anticipation, her core aching. Her hands buried in his hair the moment he settled between her legs.
"I want to take this memory with me," he said, voice low against her skin. "When I ride out."
"Then burn it in." She spread her thighs wider. "Make me remember you."
He didn't tease.
His mouth sealed over her and she broke. Her hips jerked up as his tongue stroked over her clit in slow deliberate circles. He worked her with focus and need, learning how she reacted, how she bucked when he flattened his tongue, how her breath hitched when he sucked.
She was already wet but it didn't stop him from coaxing more from her. His fingers slipped inside, one then two, curling until her vision blurred and her thighs shook. The heat inside her coiled fast.
"Caelan." His name came out broken and raw.
"I've got you," he murmured, and he did.
She came on his mouth with her thighs clenching around his head, light flooding through the scars across her chest and hips. The release hit her hard, sobbing and helpless, gold light pulsing through her veins.
He didn't stop until she sagged against the sheets, breath wrecked. Then he crawled back up, mouth slick, eyes wild.
"Memorable enough?"
She flipped him without a word.
His startled laugh turned into a groan when she straddled him, bare and dripping, settling her weight over the thick aching bulge beneath his trousers.
"My turn," she said.
She leaned down and kissed every scar she could reach. His jaw first, then his shoulder, then the new mark near his ribs. Her mouth trailed lower, teasing down his stomach, until she had him in hand. He was hard and flushed and already leaking.
She stroked once, slow and firm. He choked on a curse. The second pass had him thrusting into her grip.
"Tell me what you want."
"You." His voice was barely there. "You in every fucking life we don't get to have."
She looked up at him. Then she rose to her knees and guided him to her entrance.
The first slide in made her moan, deep and guttural. He stretched her open, slow and thick and perfect, dragging against every nerve still twitching from her last climax. Her walls clenched hard around him and he swore, hands gripping her hips like he was holding back everything.
She began to move.
Slow at first, testing and relearning the rhythm they'd had before everything went to hell. He let her set the pace, eyes locked on hers, his jaw clenched like he was one second away from losing control.
"Look at me," he said.
She did, and it almost broke her.
His face was open with no armor and no mask. Just love and fear and hunger all tangled together.
She leaned down, changed the angle, and they both gasped as he hit deeper.
He thrust up into her and the pace broke.
There was nothing slow after that.
They moved in raw frantic rhythm. Her body slammed down to meet every upward drive. His hands gripped her hips tighter, then her ass, then her waist. He was everywhere, inside her and against her and under her. His breath was harsh in her ear and his curses were punched out between thrusts.
Her scars lit the room. Fire spread under her skin, gold shadows flickering against the walls.
"Burn for me," he growled. "Let them see."
She let go.
Her hips rolled harder, riding him without shame or fear. Sweat ran down her back and her thighs shook as the sound of skin against skin filled the room.
"Fuck, Sera, gods..." His hands grabbed her tighter, dragging her down until her clit rubbed against the ridge of his pelvis with every thrust. "You feel so fucking good. I'm not gonna last."
"Then don't," she gasped. "Give it to me. All of it."
He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her into a brutal kiss. She kissed him back just as hard, body clenching, fire pulsing.
The second orgasm built slower and deeper. It spread from her spine to her toes, coiling under her belly. Her walls fluttered and tightened. He felt it.
"Close," she panted.
"Together," he promised, and slammed into her again. "Stay with me."
When she broke, she shattered. Her cry cracked the air and her body convulsed around him as golden light flared under her skin. She came screaming, shaking, falling apart on top of him.
He followed with a broken groan, hips jerking up, spilling deep inside her. His arms crushed her to his chest as if the weight of his release could keep her there forever.
They stayed like that, tangled and gasping and spent.
The fire-scars dimmed slowly. Her body still trembled. He rolled them to their sides, still buried inside her, still hard enough that it hurt to move.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too." Her voice shook. "Come back to me."
"I will." He kissed her hair. "Always."
She didn't tell him about the scars or the two weeks left.
She just lay there, heart against his, trying to remember everything about this moment.
Outside, the sky began to lighten.
He dressed in silence while she watched from the bed.
She cataloged every movement. His fingers working the shirt buttons, one hand running through his hair, his sword belt buckling with practiced efficiency.
"I left something for you." He pulled a sealed letter from his coat and set it on her nightstand. "For when you miss me."
She touched the edge of the seal. "I already miss you."
"I'll be back before you finish missing me."
He crossed to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips.
"Rest today. Let Yona check on you. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
She almost laughed. "I'll try."
"I mean it, Sera." His eyes searched hers. "Whatever's happening with the scars, whatever you're not telling me, take care of yourself."
He knew. Maybe not the details, maybe not all of it, but he knew something was wrong.
"I will."
One more kiss. Then he straightened and walked to the door.
He paused with his hand on the handle and looked back at her one last time.
He smiled at her, that crooked smile she loved, and then he was gone.
Seraphina stared at the closed door until the sky outside turned from gray to gold. She pressed her hand against her chest where the fire-scars pulsed.
Two weeks until they reached her heart.
She picked up his letter and held it against her chest. Somewhere in the palace, Siran still held the box of evidence they had recovered. When Caelan returned, they would examine it together.
The sun crested the horizon. First light had arrived.
And somewhere in the palace below, war horns began to sound.