The storm still raged outside, the wind clawing at the stone walls of Emberkeep Manor. Rain beat against the windows, a steady rhythm against the glass. But inside, the world had narrowed to firelight, breath, and silence.
Seraphina hadn't moved far. She and Caelan now sat on the chair near the fire, the same one she'd guided him to after helping him dress. Their shoulders were almost touching. The warmth of the flames bathed them both, casting shadows along the walls.
She had tended to him quietly. The basin of warm water was cooling nearby, a towel forgotten beside it. Her fingers had gently pressed to the bruises and bite marks that lined his chest and neck, remnants of Evelyne's trap. He didn't wince now. He just stared into the fire, like trying to hold on to something real.
"You're not tainted, " Seraphina said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, sure. "You're not broken."
His breath hitched, and he turned his head slightly, eyes still unfocused. "Erase it, " he murmured. "What she did. Make me forget. With you."
She froze. Not because she didn't understand, but because she did. This wasn't about escape. He was asking to be seen. To take back something that had been stolen from him. With her.
She leaned in until their foreheads touched. "Alright, " she whispered. "With me."
She rose and guided him to the bed until he lay against the pillows. Then she moved to straddle his hips. Her movements were gentle, unrushed. The moment was his to shape, not hers to control.
She began with his face, kissing the corner of his eye, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, grounding. Her mouth lingered at his lips, soft and still, until he deepened it himself. No force. Just want.
Caelan's hand slid to her back. He wasn't pulling her in. He was anchoring himself. Steadying.
She kissed along his jaw, down to his throat. Each press of her mouth was careful, her lips brushing over every mark Evelyne had left. She wasn't pretending they weren't there. She was replacing them.
When her mouth reached his chest, he let out a shaky breath.
Her hands went to his belt, unfastening it slowly. She opened his trousers and leaned in, taking him into her mouth in one smooth motion. No teasing. No hesitation. Just purpose. Her tongue moved in slow, deliberate patterns. Her lips stayed tight around him.
His hands gripped the sheets. His jaw clenched. But he didn't pull away. His breath came in sharp gasps. Then a broken whisper, her name.
He came suddenly, hard, into her mouth with a choked cry. She stayed with him through it, holding his hips firmly, her mouth soft and patient as she swallowed around him. She didn't pull back right away. She lingered, her lips brushing against the base of him in a silent promise that he was safe. That this, here, with her, was his to claim without shame or fear.
When she finally pulled back, his chest was rising and falling quickly. He looked at her, saw her clearly, and the panic was gone. Replaced by something raw and open.
He reached for her.
She came up slowly, brushing her lips along his stomach, up over his chest, leaving a warm trail of kisses as she moved. When she reached his mouth again, she kissed him deeply, letting him taste the heat still on her lips. His hands rose to cradle her face, but he didn't pull her in; he welcomed her in. She kissed him like she needed him to remember who he was. Like she needed him to know he was still hers. Still whole. Her lips were warm and yielding. He kissed her back, need rising, his hands locking at her waist like letting go wasn't an option. Their mouths opened wider, tongues brushing, breath shared. When they pulled apart, she looked at him, eyes searching, and then leaned forward again.
Her forehead touched his, and they lingered in that breathless moment, hearts beating steady now. Her hands traced the line of his jaw, then slid to his chest as she nodded, silent permission passed between them. The air shifted, no longer heavy with hesitation but charged with something shared, earned.
Only then did he begin to undress her. His hands moved slowly, reverently, undressing her piece by piece. He took his time, fingers gliding along the curves of her body with care, tracing new paths as if discovering her again for the first time. She watched the shift in his gaze, the reverence, the hunger, the softness. Her breath hitched as his palms followed the trail of her spine, her ribs, her hips. She didn't rush him. She didn't want to. This wasn't about urgency. It was about reminding each other what it meant to be wanted, seen, and chosen. He flipped her gently onto her back, moving over her with a quiet urgency that spoke more of need than haste. He kissed her again, slow and searching, then deeper, hungrier. His mouth claimed hers with reverence and heat, tongues sliding, breath catching. She moaned into him, her fingers dragging down his spine.
He began to trail kisses down her jaw and throat, then lower, over her collarbone and the swell of her breasts. He took his time, brushing his lips over one nipple, then the other, until they peaked under his touch. He sucked each one tenderly, then with growing intensity, drawing out gasps from her lips.
Her body arched under him, hips shifting restlessly as his mouth continued downward. He kissed her stomach, pressing his lips to the dip of her navel, then paused. He shifted, kissing along the inside of her knee first, then trailed slowly up her thigh, leaving open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin. His hands kept her steady as his lips moved closer, higher, until finally, he reached the place where she needed him most. He guided her thighs further apart with both hands, anchoring her there with his mouth just inches away.
When his mouth finally met her, she cried out, her hands flying to his hair. He tasted her slowly at first, learning her rhythm, coaxing every moan from her lips. His tongue moved with purpose, firm and patient.
Her thighs trembled around him. Her back arched. She came undone with a cry, and still he didn't stop. Not until she collapsed back into the pillows, breathless, glowing, every edge of tension melted away.
She pulled him up, holding him close, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath. They stayed there in silence, skin to skin, warmth shared between them. No more was asked. No more was taken.
She wrapped her arms around him. He buried his face in her neck. Their bodies stayed close, breathing in rhythm, grounding themselves in the quiet.
Neither spoke. Movement faded into stillness. What remained was warmth, and the quiet confirmation that they had each other.
No more was needed. Not tonight.
She brushed her fingers through his hair, kissed his temple.
"I trust you, " she whispered. "So you need to know my secret."
And she told him everything. Her mother. The fire. The resurrection. The bloodline.
"My mother gave everything to bring me back, " she finished.
He didn't move. Then he pressed his forehead to hers.
"You came back to change everything, " he said. "Then let's burn it down."
She closed her eyes.
"No more secrets."
They stayed like that, wrapped in silence.
And Seraphina slept. No fear. No dreams.
She didn't need them.
The next morning, the storm had passed. They left Emberkeep Manor at first light. The road to the Crown Hall was quiet, the city just starting to wake. Mist clung low to the cobblestones, and the sky was still pale with dawn.
Inside the carriage, Seraphina and Caelan sat side by side. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. The sealed documents rested in her lap, the truth finally ready to face the light.
When they stepped out onto the steps of the Crown Hall, they did it together.