The ruined square still crackled with fading light.

  Three figures remained at its center — Darius, Cassian, and Lucen — motionless amid the drifting embers. The Prince draped in poise, the Saint coiled in lightning, and the Inquisitor burning white beneath his ash-stained cloak.

  Lucen broke it first. He flicked a gnce toward Cassian and waved off the prince’s words. His tone was low and edged with contempt.

  “She’s not your Empress yet, and you’re a fool if you think she’ll stay yours once she gets what she wants.”

  Darius’s mouth twitched despite himself. The thought had crossed his mind before — how easily she’d accepted the idea of a royal union, how neatly she’d stepped into that role.

  Cassian’s answering smile was cool. “Maybe,” he said. “But you don’t know what she wants from me — or what I can offer. So even if you’re right, you'll be waiting a while for your turn. And by the time she could give it to you…”

  He stepped forward, his voice lowering. “…she may no longer be willing to let you have it.”

  Lucen’s eyes narrowed, a spark gathering there, but before he could respond, Darius cut in, his tone dry.

  “This is nonsense,” he said. “The two of you are fighting over a woman who isn’t interested in either of you.”

  Both men turned on him.

  Darius only smirked. “What? The prince said it himself — she wants something from him. Probably dangling it over her like a treat for a dog." Cassian recoiled at the biting of his words. It was true, but when presented in such a way, it felt... unpleasant. Darius was the discomfort spread across the prince's face, but he would not stop his verbal assault.

  "If even I know this. Then there's no way she didn't feel it as well." Darius stepped forward and continued,

  "You are all but stealing her freedom with this marriage. No better than the oh so corrupt Sanctum." Darius said sarcastically as he forced a breath of air from his nose. "She’ll never love you. She’ll never trust him.”

  Cassian’s expression sharpened, but he said nothing. The same thoughts had been on his mind since the day they were forcefully entangled. He averted his eyes and turned away.

  Darius turned his gaze on Lucen. “And as for you, Saint — she’s the freest, most unstoppable force I’ve ever met. If she wanted you, she’d have found you. Not exactly hard to track down a High Saint, is it?”

  His voice turned to venom. “The reason she didn’t is because she didn’t want to.” Lucen let out a long sigh but contained the bubbling rage building in his gut.

  "Fighting like dogs after a piece of meat, like you already own her. Yet anyone with half a brain can see, not even the gods can chain that woman, for long." Darius chuckled to himself and said,

  "It would be more productive to fight a nation alone than to suggest either of you has a cim over her."

  None of them noticed the footsteps gathering beyond the broken archways. The shuffling of boots and the low murmur of voices. They were too entranced in their blustering to care. While a crowd was gathering, Selene had been present since Darius and Lucen's csh was stopped by Cassian.

  Morgan stood at the edge of the square, Isolde beside her, Eryndor and Caelthorne a step behind. They had followed the impossible to miss dispy of power, from Darius and Lucen's csh, and found the three of them locked in a storm of pride and arrogance.

  Isolde’s brow furrowed. “Are they really—”

  “Yes,” Morgan murmured, her voice sharp with restrained amusement. “They are.”

  Around them, others began to arrive. Soldiers, knights, and mages still catching their breath from the battle. The capital had gone quiet of screams and destruction, all eyes were now drawn towards the three men in the center of the square.

  Cassian tilted his head, cutting in smoothly. “And you think she’ll want someone like you?” he said. “A nobody from nowhere?”

  Darius barked out a ugh. “I couldn’t care less if she wanted me. I’d be happy if I never saw that woman again.”

  But his grin faltered; his words rang hollow even to himself. The conviction wasn’t there, and the other two saw it immediately. Cassian gave a humorless chuckle. Lucen only exhaled through his nose, sparks whispering around his shoulders.

  Then — a voice. Sharp, unmistakable, carrying across the ruined courtyard.

  “Trust me, Inquisitor,” Selene said, irritation oozing off every word.

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  No one moved. The three men—Saint, Prince, and Inquisitor—stood caught in the sudden appearance of Selene. She was the st person any of them wanted to see at this moment. Lucen’s lightning dimmed. Cassian’s poise faltered for the first time that night. But it was Darius who broke first. The shame struck him deeper than either of them could know. He could hear it in her tone—the disappointment wasn’t for them. It was for him.

  Selene exhaled softly, a sound too calm for any of their comfort. Her eyes gnced at the ruined capital square and the gathered crowd. When she finally spoke again, her voice carried a welcome relief for most of them there.

  “It seems the capital is finally cleansed of its undesirables. Otherwise, how could three such heroes find the time to argue over nonsense?”

  A ripple of ughter followed—uneven, uncertain. Some ughed honestly, grateful for the reprieve from tension. Others ughed because they thought they were supposed to. Most simply wanted to look anywhere but at the three men now frozen under the witch's gaze.

  Selene smiled lightly, beautifully, hurt. The square ughed, but her next words would silence it once again.

  “Imagine it. Three beautiful men fighting for my hand.” She turned her head slightly, making sure to address each one of them. “One who won it through deception.” Her eyes lingered on Cassian. “One who only cared for it after it was out of reach.” A gnce toward Lucen. “And one who actually understands me…” Her gaze softened, then hardened again as it found Darius. “…but wishes to see me dead.”

  The hush that followed was colder than any winter wind. Selene’s smile lingered, hiding the disappointment.

  "Understandable, really, I did kill your father. But still, we've been through... during the dance you...What am I doing?" Selene began to say, but stopped herself.

  She gave a quiet scoff, almost a ugh. “What’s a girl to do with such wonderful choices?” She turned her attention to the shattered skyline. The capital had been saved, but there was still much for them to do. Not just repairs, but they needed to pool their resources and knowledge. There was still the finalization of the alliance. “Luckily, there are more important matters to occupy our minds.”

  She twirled his staff and pced it in front of her. With a graceful step, she mounted it and lifted into the air. “We’re done here,” she said, her voice carrying across the square. “I’ll meet you all back at the pace.”

  She ascended in a sweep of Vaylora. Lucen took a step forward, calling her name; Cassian followed suit, his voice sharp with regret. Neither was acknowledged.

  Darius said nothing. He only clenched his fist until blood welled between his knuckles and watched her disappear into the night sky.

  She didn't bother to look back at them, instead focusing her attention on the ruined capital that stretched beneath her. Several buildings y in rubble, the air filled with the smell of ash and burned bodies.

  Morgan drew alongside her, atop her own staff. “You could’ve stopped that entire conversation from happening,” she said quietly. “But you waited until you heard that Inquisitor speak.”

  Selene’s eyes stayed fixed ahead. “They'll all be working together soon enough,” she said. “It's best that all three of them have all their wants out in the open.”

  “That’s a convenient way of saying you didn't like what Darius had to say,” Morgan replied, her tone dry.

  Isolde flew just behind them, her hair whipping in the wind. “You shouldn't take it to heart,” she said. “Men like that don’t argue by speaking truth to each other. They are more concerned with maintaining their pride.”

  “Then let them have it,” Selene said. “It costs them nothing. But it costs me time.”

  The words were cool, but her grip on the staff tightened.

  Morgan noticed, of course. She always did. “You can act as if it means nothing,” she said softly, “but your every action says otherwise.”

  Selene finally turned, her gaze meeting Morgan’s. “And what would you have me do, Grandmother? We’re not children squabbling in fields of flowers. The capital y in ruins. There's a Circle of Sorcerers, with unknown goals, but with the power to command an undead army. Feelings can wait.”

  Morgan’s lips curved in a sad smile. “I said something simir once,” she murmured. “Right before I meet your grandfather.”

  Selene looked over at her Grandmother, whose eyes were filled with distant memories. There was a rare smile on her face. Selene scoffed,

  "And how'd that work out?" Selene mocked.

  "I worked out into a two-century-long romance that resulted in the birth of your father. So... quite well, I'd say." Morgan gave Selene a knowing smile. Selene looked away in shame, knowing she had just tried to foolishly hurt her Grandmother with her words.

  Isolde gnced between them, uneasy but silent.

  They flew on through the ash-den wind. The night below them was quiet, save for the sounds of people returning to the streets to start the long process of cleaning.

  Finally, Isolde spoke, her voice careful. “You know, it’s all right to hate them a little. You don’t have to forgive their foolishness just because they orbit you.”

  Selene’s reply came after a long moment. “Hatred is a luxury,” she said.

  Morgan’s eyes softened. “And yet, you still looked hurt.”

  For a brief second, Selene’s composure fractured. Her expression faltered, revealing the girl she had been before the world had driven the naivety out of her. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Morgan sighed through her nose. “Of course you are.”

  They flew in silence the rest of the way.

  The Grand Hall of the Imperial Pace was silent and untouched, by the destruction and chaos of the night. Selene stood in the empty hall waiting for the day's victors to make their way back.Morgan waited beside her, with Isolde hovering a few paces off.

  The great doors burst open.

  Lucen entered in a rush, his boots striking the marble like thundercps. He ignored the two other women entirely. His gaze found Selene and did not leave her.

  “Selene—”

  She didn’t turn, her eyes rolled. “What do you want, Lucen?”

  He stopped a few paces away. “You being mad at me isn’t fair.”

  Selene finally faced him. Her tone was even, but her eyes were filled with annoyance. “You knew where I was. For almost three years. Don’t act like you didn’t. I still can't believe I was excited to see you tonight.”

  Isolde stiffened. “You what?” She stepped forward, disbelief cracking her voice. “You knew where she was this whole time—and you didn’t tell me?”

  Lucen’s expression darkened. “Even if I had, what would a coward like you have done with that information?”

  Lightning prickled along his forearm as his temper rose.

  Selene’s voice cut through it like gss. “You’re one to talk. You knew, and you were too afraid to come yourself.”

  Lucen froze. The air seemed to draw tight around him. Then he pressed back, "What about you? You found me once, what was stopping you from coming to find me again?" Selene nodded her head in disgust.

  "So I am constantly to risk my neck just to share passing words with you? The Hallow's Gates are always open. The same can not be said for Sanctum's."

  Isolde turned toward Selene, her hurt pin. “You showed yourself to him—but not to me? Why?”

  Selene hesitated only a breath. “Because I wasn’t sure if you’d run to the Church the moment you found me.”

  The words hit harder than any spell. Isolde’s eyes went wide, her jaw tightening. “You think I’d betray you?”

  “Not willingly, but... you had too many weaknesses, and no real resolve,” Selene said quietly. “Until recently.”

  Silence fell again—brittle, suffocating.

  Morgan didn’t move, didn’t speak. Her gaze swept the three of them with a weary sadness. The three stood locked in silence—old friends turned strangers by the passing of years.