The second I read it, I stood.

The floor felt too still beneath me. The air too clean.

And then—

“Aria. Don’t move.”

Luca’s voice, sharp. Urgent. Closer than I expected.

I turned toward the door just as he crossed the threshold, a small black device in his hand and something in his eyes that made my blood still.

“There’s a signal,” he said. “Live. In the courtyard.”

I didn’t even get a chance to scream. He was already moving.

I followed him down the east corridor, boots echoing across the marble as we passed the arched windows. And there it was—centered in the courtyard stones like a relic from a different kind of war.

A metal box. Smooth. Unmarked. Small enough to be ignored, obvious enough to be seen.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He crouched near it, pulled out a second device, and began scanning.

My pulse didn’t race. My hands didn’t shake. But my mind sharpened.

The silence stretched.

Then: “It’s rigged,” he muttered. “Pressure trigger and remote relay. If someone had opened this—”

***

Luca and I went underground.

Not metaphorically—literally.

The catacombs beneath Velmorra were older than the city above. The air was thick with dust and secrets. This was where real business happened. Where legacies were signed and betrayed in candlelit silence.

The stone corridors twisted like veins. We moved through them in silence, escorted only by shadows and memory.

Inside the meeting chamber, old families sat on worn chairs with hard eyes. Men who didn’t care about headlines. Only results.

Luca stood behind me as I spoke. I negotiated routes, secured alliances, cut ties with weak links. I said little. But when I did, they listened.

Later, as we walked back through the narrow tunnel, Luca’s voice broke the quiet.

“You didn’t blink once in there,” he chuckled. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

I looked over at him, my lips curving. “You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “Too much, maybe.”

***

That night, we didn’t return to the war room. We went to the garden.

The staff had cleared the back courtyard, lit tall candles between the ivy, poured whiskey into crystal glasses. The stars overhead were faint, barely cutting through the haze, but the moment still felt sharp.

I didn’t wear silk. Just black slacks, boots, and my guard still half-up. But for the first time in weeks, I let myself sit without armor.

Luca poured the drinks. He didn’t ask if I wanted one. He just handed me the glass and sat beside me.

The garden was quiet except for the sound of leaves brushing against stone.

“I never asked,” he said after a long silence. “Did you ever want all this?”

I turned my head. “Want what?”

“This life. Power. War. Your name spoken with fear.”

I sipped my drink. The burn steadied me. “No one dreams of ruling with blood. But once they give you the throne, you don’t get to choose peace.”

He reached for my hand. At first, I expected the usual—restraint, control. But his touch was gentle. Like a question waiting for permission.

This time, I didn’t pull away. His fingers slid between mine, warm and sure.

“We could do it together,” he said, his voice close to mine now. “Run the empire. Rule the world.”

I looked at him. Really looked.

There was no game in his eyes. No manipulation. Just a man who had spent months watching me rise—who wanted to rise with me.

I leaned in, close enough for my breath to brush his lips.

“Then make me believe in you,” I said. “More than I believe in revenge.”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded once, slowly.

And then—

A sharp crack split the air.

We froze.

Luca’s grip tightened on my hand.

“What was that?” I whispered.

He stood up, eyes scanning the rooftop.

Another pop—faster this time.

“Down,” he said.

I didn’t argue. He pulled me behind the stone bench, his body blocking mine.

A third shot rang out.

The sound was distant but focused—meant to kill, not to scare.

My ears rang from the sudden noise. Luca’s hand pressed to my back, steady.

“Sniper,” he said, teeth clenched.