News of Elira's renunciation spread like wildfire.
The capital awoke to the scent of broken prophecy and the sound of silenced bells. No longer would the Virelle line decide the future. No longer was the cursed bride chained to fate.
Some wept. Some raged. Many whispered.
In the great stone hall, the High Council gathered without summoning her. Already, the nobles argued.
"She abandoned her title!"
"She destroyed the sigil. We are rudderless!"
"She chose a man over a kingdom!"
They feared what they could not control.
But Elira… she stood at the window of the South Tower, looking out across the frost-touched roofs, Lucien beside her.
"You should be resting," he murmured.
"I should be dead. Or married to a stranger. Or ruling a kingdom I no longer believe in." She looked up at him. "But I'm not."
He smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "So what now, my queen-not-a-queen?"
"I give them time to scream. Then I walk into that Council chamber, not to beg for position—but to offer peace."
He paused. "And if they reject it?"
"Then we leave."
Downstairs, someone knocked.
It was Cael.
His hair was damp from the road. His cloak smelled of smoke and ash. But his eyes—those storm-gray eyes—held something new.
Calm.
"I heard what you did," he said quietly.
Elira nodded. "No crown. No curse."
He nodded back. "Then I have no duty left here."
Lucien stiffened, but Cael held up a hand.
"I'm not here to fight. I'm here to say goodbye."
Elira's heart twisted. She stepped forward. "Cael…"
"I remember everything now," he said. "But remembering doesn't mean returning. You chose, Elira. And you chose well."
She swallowed. "I never meant to forget you."
"I know," he said. "But love… it's not a cage. Not anymore."
He stepped closer, offering a scroll.
"Take this. The eastern border villages are collapsing under famine. They need a leader. I thought—if not a prince, maybe I could be their sword."
Elira touched the scroll, nodding. "You'll be more than a sword. You'll be their flame."
He gave a half-smile. "Just… keep writing your story. Make it a good one."
Then, without another word, Cael turned and walked out into the snow.
Later that day, Elira entered the High Council hall.
No guards. No titles. No crown.
Just her.
And Lucien, one step behind.
The lords stilled.
"Lady Elira," one of them said coldly, "you have no seat here."
She smiled. "Exactly. That's why I'm not asking for one."
Whispers rose.
"I came to give you a gift. I burned the curse. You are free from my family's ghosts. From the bloody bargains that chained us to shadows."
A pause.
"Now… choose your leaders not from birth, but from worth. Let the people vote. Let the Council be honest."
An old lord sneered. "You expect us to believe this is noble?"
"No," she said. "I expect you to fear what comes next if you don't change."
Lucien stepped forward, eyes like a blade. "We're not threatening you. We're warning you."
The chamber fell silent.
Elira bowed once.
"Goodbye."
And together, she and Lucien turned and walked out—leaving behind a kingdom that would either rise or fall by its own hand.
That night, as stars scattered across the sky like spilled silver, Elira stood barefoot on the tower balcony.
Lucien joined her, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders.
"Do you regret it?" he asked.
She thought for a long moment.
"No. Not the choice. Not you. Maybe… only the time I wasted thinking I had no choice."
He kissed her brow. "Then let's build something better. Together."
She leaned into him.
And somewhere far to the east, a fire was lit in the dark—a small border village welcoming a scarred knight with a scroll in one hand and a promise in the other.