The moon bled in desperation and urge to see what fate had for both the souls meant for a thrilling sacrifice. However the question was, "Who and Why is the sacrifice necessary?" Elara asked her betrothed. She never left his side once he wanted her to leave. She was stubborn, almost unimaginatively obstinate. She looked at Caelum from below his height which almost shielded her from the sunrays of the dusk. Her look communicated how she wanted to get the answer without any more excuses. As if she has developed a claim over him and he was ought to listen to her or else this violent and aggressive looking girl would not let him get through. That was cute though.
Caelum answered, "The queen was not a queen in the first place, she was an orphan and never knew what it meant to have parents. She was taken in account my the king of thornavales who kept her as a concubine and forced her to be a maid as well. She eventually grew out of it and accepted her reality when the king was killed in an assasination. Following so, she took over the throne claiming the power of her late lover. Anyone who revolted the system thereafter was met with aggressive punishments which took away the last ray of hope from the people of this kingdom. She now claimes me to be her son. However she never told me who my father is and I am too scared to ask. My identity is false, Elara. I dont even know who I am and that is the only reason why I cannot even stand by you with my full potential."
Elara looked emotionally drained after listening to the story she never knew. She looked at Caelum twitching her left eyes to make it smaller. Her look was of doubt. She asked Caelum, "So you will have no issues sacrificing your mother: The Queen tonight? "
"I would have no issues" , He shook his head violently to avoid eye contact with his betrothed. He continued, "I always told myself that I am the son of the queen and I am thus a prince but my heart never beats for the name of this queen. She might be my mother but I have zero emotional attachment and her dead foxy eyes gives me nothing but trauma. A mother should not be like that Elara, her nature would not allow her to be so cold. I am not having anything with me and thus I have no fear of loss because apparently I am a pauper with no luxuries or precious items. "
The silence that rolled in between them after his heavy words felt dense, expanding like the shadows of the secret crypt. Elara kept her eyes locked on his face, watching the subtle twitch of his jaw and the way his olive orbs seemed to reflect a deep, unlovable darkness. The coldness of the air was pressing hard against her chest, but the heat coming from Caelum's tall figure was too large to ignore. He stood there, looking down at his own boots, as if he was a prince stripped of his royalty by his own confession, as if he was already reduced to a boy who had never known a genuine touch of warmth.
Elara took a step forward, her movements were deliberate and challenged every bit of the feeling which encircled Caelum. Her boots clicked softly against the stone, the sound echoed lightly before ending in the vastness of the balcony. She didn't like the way he called himself a pauper. It irritated her, sparking that natural aggression in her veins that always kept her alive.
"A pauper?" Elara snapped softly, her voice carried a sharp texture that made Caelum's head snap up. She looked at him with that same stubborn, obstinate tilt of her chin, as if she was refusing to let him drown in his own despair. "You think you have nothing? You think you are standing here with zero assets just because that foxy-eyed woman stole your identity before you could even build it?"
Caelum looked at her with his olive eyes as they widened slightly at the sudden fire in her tone. He swallowed hard, which made his throat move elegantly against the high collar of his dark tunic. "Elara, I have no lineage, and that is true. No father to name, no wealth that isn't blood-stained by her rituals. If I die tonight, the world loses a shadow. Nothing more."
"Stop talking like a fool," she commanded ,as she stepped even closer until the tips of her boots almost touched his. The difference in their heights was significant, forcing her to look up drastically; her compact frame became completely enveloped by his larger, muscular presence. It felt like he was shielding her from the entire world, from the pulse of that hideous crimson Heart-Stone behind them. "I told you before, Caelum. I am on my team. But you... you are currently standing in my space. And I do not protect shadows. I protect people who fight beside me."
Caelum's breath hitched. He looked down at her face, as he scanned her puffed, exhausted eyes and the fierce determination that were painted over her features. The 'no touch' rule was vibrating in the air between them like an invisible string, but the sheer gravity of her closeness was pulling at his restraint.
"You are a violent girl, Elara," he murmured, a faint, almost apparent trace of amusement softened the jagged edges of his voice. It was the first time his tone carried something close to affection, a quiet acknowledgment of her untamed nature. "You snap at me when you're hurt, you threaten me with a sharpened pen, and now you stand here telling me what I'm allowed to feel."
"Because you are being stupid," she replied instantly, her left eye twitched again in that characteristic look of stubborn doubt. "You say you have no precious items. Look at me, Caelum."
He did. He couldn't look anywhere else even if he wanted to.
"Am I not precious?" She asked, the question coming out raw and aggressive, yet holding an underlying current of vulnerability that she couldn't mask. "You spent the last two days throwing love bombs at me, telling me you would rather have your head hanging in the city square than see my blood spilled. You claimed me as your queen in the courtyard. And now you want to tell me you have nothing to lose?"
Caelum stared at her; his entire body went rigid as her words struck him right in the chest. The confession of her claim over him was so sudden, so violently honest, that it knocked the breath right out of his lungs. He felt his hands twitch at his sides; the urge to reach out and pull her into his chest became an absolute agony. The rule—the boundary she had set to protect her broken heart—was the only thing keeping him from breaking the distance completely.
"Elara..." he breathed, his voice dropping into a low, raspy register that vibrated through the cold air. "Do not play with those words. You know what I feel for you isn't a game. It isn't a strategic move for this battle."
"I know," she whispered, her aggressive stance slipped just a fraction as if it revealed the immense emotional drainage she was suffering from. The lingering effects of the shadow-root poison were still humming softly in her muscles, making her limbs feel slightly fluid again. She swayed slightly, when her balance faltered under the weight of her heavy heartbeat, which was still echoing the dark rhythm of the Heart-Stone.
Seeing her sway, Caelum abandoned all thoughts of rules and boundaries. He lunged forward,and caught her with his large hands, by the waist and pulled her flush against his chest before she could hit the stone floor.
Elara did not flinch this time.
She let out a soft gasp as her front crashed into his solid leather tunic, her hands instinctively flew up to grip his shoulders for support. The contact was explosive. The heat from his body rushed into her cold skin like a wild current, chased away the icy dampness of the crypts in a single heartbeat. He held her securely, his grip firm and possessive, yet filled with a terrifying tenderness that made her heart race for an entirely different reason.
"You're weak," Caelum said, his forehead dropped to rest against hers, his olive eyes staring directly into her dark ones from inches away. His breath was warm against her lips, smelling faintly of the mint from the antidote he had given her earlier. "The poison is still fighting your spirit, Elara. You need to rest, not stand here arguing with a pauper prince."
"I am not weak," she argued back, though her voice lacked its usual bite, sounding breathless and small against his chest. Beneath her palms, she felt his heart thrumming rapidly and heavily, and it was unsynchronized with the Heart-Stone. It was fast, erratic, and beating solely for her. "And I told you to stop calling yourself that."
Caelum let out a ragged sigh, his grip on her waist tightening, lifting her slightly so she didn't have to strain her neck to keep eye contact. "Then tell me what I am, Elara. If I am not a false prince, and I am not a pauper, who am I to you?"
The romantic tension between them stretched so tight it felt like it would snap the vault apart. Elara looked at his lips, then back up to his olive eyes, seeing the raw hunger and the desperate need for validation swimming within those dark orbs. A murderous queen had starved him of love his entire life under her foxy, traumatic gaze, and he sought from her—his suspected enemy—a reason to exist.
"You are my betrothed," she breathed, the word tasting strange yet definitive on her tongue. "The guy who carried me through the hallway when everyone else feared for their lives. The one who gave me a team when I thought I was alone. You are Caelum. That is enough."
A gorgeous, tragic smile broke across Caelum's face, breaking through his royal facade entirely. He couldn't contain himself anymore. Slowly, deliberately, giving her every opportunity to pull away or strike him, he leaned his head down and pressed his lips against hers.
The kiss was not gentle, nor was it hesitant. It carried the desperate energy of the bleeding moon above them, filled with the thrill of a sacrifice they were both trying to dodge. Elara's eyes fluttered shut, her mind spinning as the physical sensation of his mouth moving against hers completely obliterated the high-pitched ringing in her ears. He tasted of heat, like survival, like a promise made in the dark.
She tightened her grip on his leather-clad shoulders, pulling herself closer until there was absolutely no space left between them. Her aggression turned into passion, her stubborn nature refusing to let him hold back. She kissed him back with a fierce, possessive hunger, communicating through the touch that she had indeed developed a permanent claim over his soul.
Caelum groaned softly against her mouth, his hands moving from her waist to her back, pressing her so deeply into his frame that she felt entirely shielded from the malice of the palace. He shifted his stance, grounding them both against the cold stone floor, his lips parting hers with an intensity that made her knees feel completely fluid again. But he didn't let her fall. He was her anchor, holding her up with his full potential, a potential that was finally unlocked because she had given him an identity.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, both of them were panting, their breaths mingling in the chilly air. Caelum's olive eyes were dark with an overwhelming devotion, his thumbs gently wiping away a stray tear that had slipped from her puffed eyes.
"If we die tonight, Elara," he whispered against her cheek, his voice trembling with an emotion so deep it felt holy, "I will die knowing I belonged to someone. I belonged to you."
Elara opened her eyes, her gaze sharp and focused despite the flush on her cheeks. She reached up, her small fingers wrapping around his jaw, forcing him to look at her without rocking his head away.
"We are not going to die," she stated with absolute, unimaginable obstinacy. "My father didn't die just so I could become a corpse on a ballroom floor. And you didn't survive that foxy woman just to be spent like currency. We are going to kill the queen, Caelum. We are going to take her throne, and then you can figure out who your father was on your own time."
Caelum let out a low chuckle, the sound warm against her skin. "You really are a violent girl."
"And you love it," she countered, a small, genuine smirk finally touching her lips.
"I do," he confessed, his forehead resting against hers once more as the crimson light of the Heart-Stone continued to pulse behind them, an unheeded warning against a love that had already turned into a battlefield.
He slid his hands down to wrap around her small fingers, lifting them to his lips to press a tender kiss against her knuckles, right where she had held the sharpened pen. Survival was no longer the sole purpose of the alliance;