Ethan:

  The sun set like it owed us something.

  Orange bled into violet, shadows curling long across the Lysandre estate’s stone balcony where we sat, finally — finally — alone. No scheming relatives. No sabotage dressed as concern. Just two predators momentarily at peace, watching the sky forget to burn us down.

  Dinner was quiet.

  For once, no weapons tucked beneath napkins. No poisoned glances. Just wine. Black sea bass. Roast fig. Candlelight flickering against Celeste’s cheekbones like devotion in flame form.

  I didn’t say much.

  I didn’t need to.

  She was sitting across from me in a silk slip the color of spilled ink, legs crossed like a secret, swirling her wine as if it were a rival’s blood.

  Celeste:

  The day had been loud. Violent. Necessary.

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  Lucinda would think twice now before digging.

  The rest of them? Already recalibrating. They’d whisper, yes. They always did. But whispering beneath you was a type of submission.

  And Ethan?

  God, Ethan had never looked more like mine.

  Relaxed, leaning back in his chair, shirt unbuttoned just enough to prove he could be soft — but chose not to be. The wine in his glass caught the sunset.

  He looked like a weapon sheathed in silk.

  I raised my glass.

  “To another day survived.”

  He smirked.

  “Low standards, wife.”

  I leaned forward, clinked my glass against his.

  “They keep us alive.”

  Ethan:

  “To living,” I said, more honest than I meant to be.

  Celeste’s eyes flicked to mine — knowing, sharp, fond.

  “And to kissing like we just got away with murder,” she said.

  We both drank.

  And then I stood.

  Came around the table.

  Took her face in both hands like it was something sacred.

  And I kissed her.

  Not rough.

  Not rushed.

  Slow.

  Like our whole world was this moment. Like the entire empire could wait five seconds while I reminded myself what I’d bled for.

  Her lips were wine-stained. Soft. Familiar.

  Dangerous.

  Celeste:

  The kiss wasn’t for power.

  Not for show.

  Not even to prove a point.

  It was just us.

  Two people who had clawed their way through another day of politics, betrayal, family, and survival — and still came out side by side.

  I leaned into it.

  Breathed him in.

  Felt his fingers at my jaw, careful like he was touching something that could burn him if he let it.

  I pulled back just slightly, lips still grazing his.

  “To tomorrow,” I whispered.

  Ethan smiled.

  “Let them try.”