Across Lifetimes, Still Yours

Cris hated diplomatic events almost as much as he hated ballroom shoes. He stood stiffly at the marble balcony of Castle Veilridge, a silver goblet in one hand, his dark curls tousled by the wind. Below, the Grand Conclave’s opening ceremony buzzed with the polished laughter of royals and council members from both Thornvale and Viremonthe. Fire lanterns floated upward in ceremonial display, bathing the starlit skies in amber and gold. “Tell me again why I agreed to this?” Cris muttered. Lori, standing beside him in a crimson sash and ceremonial armor, leaned on the balustrade. “Because you like drama. And also, because your mother threatened to cut off your monthly wine shipments.” Cris rolled his eyes. “Blackmail in velvet gloves.” “You’d do the same if you were queen.” “Which is why I’m not.” He took a sip of bloodwine, letting the bitter notes linger. “This place reeks of old secrets.” “You mean history,” Lori said, then raised a brow. “Though yeah, probably secrets too.”

The room carried a light mix of metal and roses - Anna’s favorite scent, picked to feel welcoming and threatening all at once. Golden wall lamps threw shaky firelight across smooth stone walls as a midnight draft slid through. At the head of the black stone table, Anna Drazan sat perfectly straight, her deep red silk dress spreading like spilled blood around her chair. She flipped a slim dagger in her fingers, the blade catching the light with every turn.Across from her, Owen Tucker lounged with the ease of someone who never feared the room he was in. Six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, a shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest the confidence of a man who knew he was being watched. His deep voice rolled across the room like soft-rumble thunder.“You sent for me at midnight,” he said, leaning back. “Either you’re bored, or someone’s about to bleed.”Anna’s smile was a blade. “Perhaps both.”The door thudded shut behind the last departing guard. Silence folded in.“You’ve seen them togethe

Castle Veilridge woke up under a dull gray sky, the Grand Conclave’s banners flapping like uneasy birds in the cold wind. The council room smelled of wet rock and candle smoke, heavy with the weight of too many arguments packed into one early morning. Queen Mother Elara presided at the head of the long oak table, her silver hair pinned high, her eyes sharp despite the hour. Ministers went on and on about tariffs and trade routes, their voices a full wave against the storm brewing outside the castle walls. Halfway through a tedious debate about grain shipments, Anna excused herself with a bow and a soft apology. “A slight headache, Your Majesty. The torches from last night’s feast were stronger than I expected.” Elara’s gaze followed her future daughter-in-law as she turned for the door. “Anna, dear,” the queen called gently. Anna paused, hands folded at her waist. “Yes, Your Majesty?” The queen rose, silks whispering across the floor. “Child, you're leaving so quickly, are you

The tavern reeked of smoke and beer, packed with the sound of clinking mugs and loud laughter. Anna glided through it like a flame in the dark, her gown scandalously out of place among roughened miners and drunkards. Every eye turned. She thrived on it.A man at the bar straightened as though tugged by invisible thread. Broad shoulders, flushed cheeks, eyes hazy from too much drink and too little caution. He smirked as she neared.“Well, now,” he said, voice slurred but eager. “What’s a jewel like you doin’ in a pit like this?”Anna leaned close, her perfume cutting through the stench of sweat and beer. “Perhaps I was looking for something… unrefined.” Her lips brushed his ear, words silk and venom both.He swallowed hard, pulse leaping beneath his collar. “You found it.”From the corner, Leo watched. Hood drew low, his gaze never left her. This was their dance, their ritual. Anna played the flame, Leo the shadow. And together, they fed.The man stumbled after her as she drifted from

The third day of the Conclave dawned bright, the kind of morning that promised diplomacy over daggers. Yet beneath the glitter of banners and the drone of orators, tension twisted like a blade kept too close to the skin.Leo and Cris had not exchanged so much as a glance.In the grand hall, Thornvale’s delegation sat shoulder to shoulder with Viremonthe’s, rows of velvet chairs gleaming beneath the chandeliers. The air smelled of beeswax and parchment, the drone of advisors filling the vaulted chamber as scribes recorded every word.Leo kept looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with anyone - especially the heir to the rival throne. Beside him, Anna looked every inch the queen-in-waiting: serene smile, jeweled gown, hands folded just so. But anyone with eyes could see the tension in the set of her jaw, the stiffness in her fingers where they brushed against Leo’s sleeve.They had entered together, and yet not together. Leo’s steps had been measured, his nods polite, but the spa