Crown Prince Caelum isn't what the story said he was.
He was supposed to be cold. Strategic. A lion who never bowed.
But the man who waits in my tower now? He kneels.
Not in submission. In craving.
"You were meant to die," he says.
"I did," I whisper. "And what stands here now doesn't belong to anyone's story but mine."
He steps closer, like a moth that knows the fire will kill it, but wants to feel the burn anyway.
"Say you hate me," he murmurs.
"I don't hate you."
"Say you'll use me."
"Already am."
His breath catches.
"You're dangerous," he says.
"No," I answer, pressing my hand to his chest. "I'm holy."
He kisses me like he wants to drown.
And I let him for a moment.
Because power isn't about withholding.
It's about letting them see the edge of the cliff…
…and stepping off with a smile.
Later, when he's gone, I look into the mirror.
The one that broke when I first remembered.
And I see something new.
A gold crown growing out of flame.
Not a symbol.
A warning.