The curse no longer clawed at my ribs.
It curled around me instead—cold, familiar.
I breathed in, steady.The wind did not howl. It listened.
Kaelen stood beside me, silent as always."Focus on the pulse beneath the ground," he said.
"Feel it answer you."
So I reached.
Past the soil.
Past the bones.
Past the guilt.
And there it was.
The hush of snowfall in midsummer.
Soft. Sharp. Mine.
Water obeyed me—flowing, rushing.
But snow...Snow whispered secrets.
"It's done," I told Kaelen. "It no longer fights me."He nodded once. "Then you're ready."
We stood on the training grounds.
Steel met frost in the morning sun.
Lucian faced me, sword drawn.
A ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"You sure about this?"
"The only way to test control—" I said, lifting my blade, "—is to lose it and take it back."
We danced—steel to steel.
I moved slower than him.
But my magic was quicker.
Ice bloomed from my feet.
His cloak froze mid-motion.
And yet, he still caught me off guard.
He does not have magic.
Yet powerful enough to fight against it.
With sheer skills, nonetheless.
"You're reckless," he muttered, pinning my sword arm."And you're predictable."
He blinked. Then laughed."The knights will talk about this."
"Let them."
Later, I stood by the knights' barracks.
Watching. Listening.
Their movements were clean—too clean.
I saw the cracks beneath the polish.
"Lucian," I said, as he approached, "may I observe them closer?"He raised a brow. "You plan to lead them?"
"No. But in a year, they may face some challenges. And they're not ready."A pause. Measured silence.
"How would you know that?" I met his gaze.
"It's a secret. I have a source."
"Is it reliable?"
"More than spies."
That night, I practiced again—Alone in the garden.
The snow I summoned fell like a memory.
Not just a curse.Not just magic.A warning.And a gift.
The wind howled like a beast starved.
Snow bit at my cheeks, but I stayed still.
Breathe steadily.
Arms open.
The curse whispered again—not in pain.
In patience.
I shaped the water in the air,
held it in place,
froze it with a breath.
"Good," Kaelen had said earlier in our training sessions. "But control comes at a cost."I was willing to pay.
From his office window, Lucian watched.
I didn't need to look to know.
His presence always felt like the calm before war.Still.Unblinking.
The doors opened behind me, snow swirling.
His boots crunched across the stone.
"Liora."
I turned, still holding the frost in my palm.
He stopped just a few steps away.
Eyes sharp.
Jaw clenched.
"It's too cold for you out here."
"I'm fine."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around me.It smelled like cedar and steel.
"You'll get sick."
"I said I'm fine."
He didn't move back. His eyes searched mine.
"This weather isn't kind to someone from the capital.
"Noctare's my home now."
"You're not built for this."
"Then I'll build myself."
I stepped back from his cloak, but he gripped the edges gently.
"Go back to your room. Rest.""It's not midnight yet. I promised myself—""You can promise yourself tomorrow.""I'll return at midnight."
His voice dropped."Liora. You're not caring for your body."
"Because power doesn't wait for perfect health."
A beat of silence.
The wind howled again, twisting between us.
"You're strong," he said. "But foolish.""I'd rather be foolish than weak."
His eyes darkened.
"Then I'll speak to you not as your husband, but as the Duke of Noctare.""This is an order. Return to your room."
The wind died.
I stood still, fists clenched beneath his cloak.
I didn't speak.
But I didn't move either.
So he did.
He stepped forward, arms sliding beneath my knees and back.
In one smooth motion, I was in his arms.
The snow caught midair.
My breath did, too.
"If you feel uncomfortable," he said, his voice low, "say so now."I didn't.
The hall was quiet.
His footsteps echoed like thunder in the silence.
My heart beat louder.
We said nothing until he placed me gently on my bed.
The warmth of his cloak still on my shoulders.
He stood beside the bed, still and unreadable.
"Sleep," he said.
"Train tomorrow. With me."
"You'll teach me?"
"You'll obey me."
I smiled, despite myself."We'll see."
His mouth twitched—half a smirk, half a warning.
But he said nothing more.
And I stayed wrapped in his warmth,
thinking only of snow and
steel and the fire he lit inside me.
He laid me down gently.
The bed dipped beneath my weight,t
he room still buzzing from the cold outside…and from him.
Lucian didn't speak at first.
He simply looked at me.
Not like a duke.
Not like a commander.
Like a man who saw more than frost in my veins.
Then he leaned closer.
And pressed his lips to my forehead.
Warm.
Soft.
Steady.
My breath caught in my throat.
My face burned.
I knew he felt it—he always noticed everything.
He pulled back slightly, eyes glinting.
Then he chuckled, low and rough.
"You're blushing."
"I am not."
"Liar."
I turned my face toward the pillows,
but he didn't let me hide for long.
"If I asked to sleep beside you tonight…""Would you let me?"
My pulse stuttered.
His voice wasn't teasing now.
It was careful.
Hopeful.
The answer formed before the question finished.
"Yes."
We changed in silence.
Not awkward.Just aware.
When I returned from behind the screen,
Lucian was already at the bedside—Not in armor,
Not in courtly black,
But in soft, loose linens.
A man.Not a title.
And for the first time,
I saw what he could have been all along.
No weight of command.
No guard raised.
Just him.
He turned when he heard me, eyes traveling slowly.
Not with hunger.With something far worse.Devotion.
"You still look like a duchess," he said, his voice quieter now."But somehow softer.""I could say the same," I whispered.
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
"I never saw you like this," I murmured.
The words slipped before I could catch them.
But he didn't flinch.
He didn't know what they meant.
Still, something in his gaze darkened.
"Perhaps," I continued, softer now, "it wasn't just me who changed."
In the past…Lucian Noctar never looked at me this way.
He never kissed my forehead.
He never asked to stay beside me.
He never smiled when I blushed.
Maybe it was true.
That affection comes not with time but with change.
And in this lifetime—Something changed.
In me.
In him.
In us.
We slid beneath the blankets.Close.Not touching—yet not apart.
His hand found mine under the sheets, fingers brushing knuckles.
"Sleep, Liora.""Stay," I whispered back.
And he did.
The storm outside raged.
But in his arms, there was only calm.