[Silthara Palace—Same Night—Later]
The chamber breathed softly.
Moonlight spilled through the high windows in pale bands, washing over silk sheets and carved stone, turning the world gentle and unreal. Levin slept on his side, lashes dark against his cheek, breath slow and even—unguarded in a way only sleep allowed.
The door opened without sound.
Zeramet entered like a shadow that belonged.
He shed his outer mantle, silver and heavy, and moved to the bed. For a moment he only watched—this fragile miracle the world kept trying to take from him. Then he lay down behind Levin and slid an arm around him, slow, careful, and instinctively protective.
Levin stirred.
A small sound left him, half-asleep, half-aware. He turned his face slightly, eyes fluttering open.
"Oh…" he murmured, voice soft with drowsy relief. "You came."
Zeramet lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Levin's forehead—warm, lingering, and reverent, as if sealing a vow older than crowns.
