Kael'Zir had faced countless adversaries, stood amidst the chaos of war, and emerged from battles that seemed insurmountable. Yet, none of those experiences compared to the turmoil he felt now, standing before her.

  Queen Iskhera. His queen. His guiding star. His destiny.

  The chamber exuded an oppressive heat, with molten veins coursing through the obsidian walls, casting flickering shadows that danced with an eerie glow. This war room was more than just stone and fire—it was an extension of her essence. Every sharp contour, every towering pillar, every persistent flame that defied the surrounding darkness mirrored her indomitable spirit.

  And there she stood, at the heart of it all.

  Her armor appeared as if forged in the core of a dying star, its molten sheen pulsating like a second heartbeat, radiating an aura of unparalleled power. Yet, her face remained an enigma, a mask of regal composure.

  She had always been this way. Even in fleeting moments when he glimpsed the woman beneath the crown, she remained a force of nature, a tempest restrained by sheer will.

  Once, he had believed she was his tempest to weather.

  How na?ve he had been.

  Iskhera stood before the expansive viewport overlooking the fiery sky, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture exuding authority and control. She did not turn as he entered.

  She had already sensed his presence.

  "We are on the brink of victory," she declared, her voice calm and resolute. "Soon, our enemies will be nothing more than ashes."

  A quiet sigh escaped Kael's lips.

  Victory.

  What did it signify anymore?

  Did she even comprehend?

  Or had Azael's insidious whispers entwined so deeply within her psyche that she no longer recognized her own voice?

  He yearned to share with her the revelations from the island.

  He longed to unveil the truth.

  But his throat constricted.

  Not from fear. Not due to Azael's looming shadow, nor the relentless war.

  But because, for the first time, he doubted whether she would even care.

  He had sculpted his existence around her.

  Every battle fought, every decision made, every sacrifice endured was for her. For what she symbolized to him.

  She had never been easy to love.

  Perhaps that was why he had fallen so deeply.

  Because he had perceived something beneath the armor, beyond the blood and fire—a depth unseen by others.

  She had been young once—like him. Before the war consumed them. Before duty devoured her essence.

  And he had been so hopelessly idealistic.

  A memory surged forth—

  The first time he nearly confessed his love.

  Long before the war reached its zenith, before Azael's influence tightened its grip on her.

  They had fought side by side, blades gleaming, their movements synchronized against foes who stood no chance against their combined might. It was instinctual—fighting with her, beside her, for her.

  When the final adversary fell, and silence enveloped them, he had looked at her.

  In the glow of the firelight, for the first time, she had met his gaze as if truly seeing him.

  She had reached out, her fingers grazing his jaw—a gesture so subtle yet profoundly intimate that it nearly unraveled him.

  He had hoped she would speak.

  Utter something genuine. Something that affirmed this wasn't a figment of his imagination.

  But she merely smirked, her gaze drifting to the battlefield, before withdrawing.

  As if the moment had never transpired.

  As if they had never existed.

  And he had let it pass.

  Believing there would always be time.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Believing she would eventually let him in.

  But years slipped by, and she never did.

  Not entirely.

  Now, observing her, standing resolute with war blazing in her eyes, he realized she never would.

  Perhaps she was never his to claim.

  Kael exhaled sharply, grounding himself in the present.

  "If we falter now, we lose," Iskhera continued, her voice slicing through his reverie. "To show weakness is to invite annihilation. This war is our lifeline."

  Kael clenched his jaw.

  No.

  This war was a facade. A prison she refused to acknowledge.

  He wanted to shout, to shake her, to make her remember.

  Instead, his voice emerged softly.

  "Iskhera."

  A flicker crossed her eyes, vanishing before he could grasp it. She turned slightly, her gaze settling on him. Expectant.

  He stepped closer, closing the distance.

  "I journeyed to the island."

  A stillness ensued.

  A solitary flicker of molten gold in her eyes. An almost imperceptible shift that only he would notice.

  "Tell me you didn't."

  His throat tightened. "I did."

  Silence.

  She turned away, exhaling.

  Exhaling.

  As if wearied.

  As if something within her was unraveling.

  As if, in some deep recess of her being, she already knew.

  Yet, she remained steadfast.

  "What did you uncover?" she inquired, her tone lacking the authority of a queen demanding answers.

  It was the voice of someone who already anticipated the response.

  Kael hesitated.

  For a fleeting moment, he believed he could still reach her.

  That if he unveiled the truth—all of it—she would finally see.

  But then, the atmosphere shifted.

  A shadow stirred within the chamber.

  And suddenly, it was too late.

  Azael emerged.

  His presence filled the space, pressing against the walls like a sentient force, something that didn't belong yet had firmly rooted itself.

  Kael turned, meeting his gaze without flinching.

  Azael regarded him, those cold violet eyes assessing, calculating.

  "Doubt is a disease," Azael murmured, advancing. "I sense it within you, Kael'Zir."

  Kael's muscles tensed, but he held his ground.

  Azael's gaze flicked toward Iskhera, his tone smooth, almost tender.

  "Our queen requires unwavering resolve. She cannot afford hesitation."

  Kael's fists clenched.

  You speak as if you possess her.

  The words remained unspoken, but Azael's smirk suggested he heard them nonetheless.

  "Or," Azael continued softly, tilting his head, "has she merely embraced the truth you refuse to acknowledge?"

  Kael turned back to Iskhera.

  His heart ached.

  She remained silent.

  She avoided his gaze.

  And that silence—that unbearable silence—resonated louder than any war cry.

  She was slipping away.

  Right before him.

  And he realized, in that moment, the truth he had been evading all along.

  He had never truly loved her.

  Not in the way he had convinced himself.

  He had loved an ideal.

  A dream that one day, she would transform.

  That one day, she would truly see him.

  That one day, she would allow herself to be more than a sovereign.

  But that day would never come.

  And Kael had spent his life chasing a phantom.

  His chest felt hollow.

  He faced Azael, and for the first time, he understood.

  Azael had anticipated this outcome.

  He knew Kael would arrive at this realization.

  That Kael'Zir would shatter under the weight of his own hope.

  Kael yearned to destroy him for it.

  A cold, subtle curve graced Kael'Zir's lips—a smile devoid of warmth, a mask to conceal the tempest within. He met Azael's gaze, unwavering, as the weight of his revelation settled like a shroud upon his shoulders.

  "Of course," he murmured, the words slipping from his tongue like shards of ice.

  Azael's eyes gleamed with a predatory satisfaction, mistaking Kael's facade for submission. The advisor inclined his head, a gesture of perceived victory, before turning his attention back to Iskhera.

  "Our queen," Azael intoned, his voice a silken thread weaving through the chamber, "requires unwavering loyalty. Together, we shall usher in a new era."

  Iskhera's gaze flickered between the two men, her expression inscrutable. The weight of her crown seemed heavier than ever, pressing down upon her with an invisible force.

  Kael'Zir's heart clenched, a visceral ache that threatened to consume him. The woman he had loved—the woman he still loved—stood before him, ensnared in a web of ambition and manipulation. He had to free her, to shatter the chains that bound her to this relentless path.

  But first, he had to deceive the deceiver.

  With a measured breath, Kael stepped forward, his demeanor one of resolute determination. "For the glory of our queen," he declared, his voice steady, "I shall do whatever is necessary."

  Azael's lips curled into a serpentine smile, satisfaction oozing from his every pore. "Excellent," he purred. "Together, we are unstoppable."

  Kael inclined his head, masking the revulsion that churned within him. He could feel Iskhera's gaze upon him, searching for something—doubt, perhaps, or betrayal. But he offered her nothing beyond the facade he had constructed.

  The chamber seemed to close in around him, the oppressive heat pressing against his skin like a vice. He had made his choice, set his course upon a treacherous path. The road ahead was fraught with peril, but he would traverse it willingly, for her sake.

  As Azael turned away, a sense of foreboding settled over Kael. The advisor's shadow loomed large, a constant reminder of the insidious influence that threatened to consume them all.

  But Kael'Zir was no longer the naive warrior who had once believed in dreams. He was a man forged in the crucible of war, tempered by loss and betrayal. And he would not rest until he had torn down the edifice of lies that imprisoned the woman he loved.

  Even if it meant sacrificing everything.

  With a final glance at Iskhera, Kael turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, his resolve as unyielding as the steel of his blade. The battle for her soul had begun, and he would wage it with every ounce of strength he possessed.

  For love. For truth. For her.

  But instead—he smiled.