Draven.
The moon hung low and pale above the trees, its light spilling across the balcony floor like silver smoke.
While the city below was subdued under curfew, the silence up here was steady and almost deceitful.
I stood by the railing with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a half-filled glass in the other. The wind brushed against my skin, cool and sharp, tugging faintly at my shirt sleeves.
I had lost count of how long I had been out here. Maybe an hour. Maybe more.
The first burn of whiskey down my throat did little to chase away the thoughts. They ca anyway—one after another. The war. Brackham. The vampires. And now... Alderic.
"He’s old, Draven," Rhovan’s voice rolled quietly in my mind, deep and steady. "You’ve known for a while this day would co."
"I know," I said aloud, staring at the horizon. "But knowing doesn’t make it easier."
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft clink of glass as I swirled the amber liquid.
"I’m not ready," I admitted quietly. "Not for the throne."
Rhovan’s growl was low, out of challenge. "You were born ready. You just refuse to see it."
I huffed a faint breath, half amusent, half resignation. "If I were truly ready, I wouldn’t still be here fighting human greed. I’d have ended this years ago."
"You’re not fighting for power," Rhovan reminded . "You’re fighting for balance. For our kind. You’ve done what no one else could. You brought peace where there was none."
"Peace?" I echoed bitterly. "There is nothing peaceful about blood running through streets."
Rhovan didn’t respond imdiately. When he did, his tone had softened.
"You’re not the boy who once feared leadership. You’ve carried kingdoms on your shoulders since the day you ca of age. Alderic’s sickness doesn’t change that. It only ans the world will soon demand more from you."
I rested my elbows on the railing, eyes tracing the thin mist that hovered above the distant woods.
"I just wanted more ti. Ti to rest. To breathe. To spend with her for a while... before everything changes."
"Our mate has given you strength, not distraction," he said. "She grounds you. She reminds you of what you fight for."
I took another drink, the words settling heavy in my chest. "Still, I don’t want this now. Not yet."
"He will live a while longer," Rhovan murmured. "A few more months, maybe more. That’s more than enough ti to finish this war and return ho to rest. And then stand beside the throne as the next in line."
I closed my eyes for a mont, letting Rhovan’s certainty sink in, though it did little to soothe the unease twisting in my gut.
Then, a softer sound broke the quiet—the click of the glass door behind .
I turned slightly.
redith stepped out onto the balcony, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders, the golden silk of her robe catching the moonlight.
The scent of vanilla and wild jasmine drifted toward , washing over the tension that had held captive all evening.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just ca to stand beside , her bare feet silent against the cold stone.
"Whiskey?" I asked, holding up the glass.
She smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "If I take it, will you share your thoughts too?"
I looked down at her—at the faint shimr of her eyes beneath the moonlight, the quiet understanding that always seed to cut through my walls.
"Maybe," I murmured, handing her the glass.
She took it, her fingers brushing mine—warm against the chill of the night. She took a careful sip, and imdiately her face twisted.
"Moons," she coughed softly, pressing the back of her hand to her lips, "it burns."
I couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at my mouth. "It’s whiskey, love. It’s supposed to."
She shot a mock glare, her cheeks tinged pink from the heat of the drink. "Then I don’t know how you enjoy it. It feels like swallowing fire."
"Fire helps you rember you’re alive," I murmured, taking the glass from her hand. "But I will admit, it’s not made for everyone."
"Not for ," she said with a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Then, softer, "You’ve been out here for a while. Thinking about tomorrow?"
I hesitated, my eyes wandering back to the horizon. "Not just tomorrow."
She turned slightly toward , her robe whispering against her skin. "Then what?"
For a long mont, I didn’t answer. The night air was cool, scented faintly with pine and stone. Then I said quietly, "King Alderic."
Her expression sobered imdiately. "Is his sickness that serious?"
"Yes. My father says it’s been a week, and the healers are of no help," I explained further.
She touched my arm gently, her concerned gaze peering at .
"If Alderic falls ill beyond recovery, I will be next to ascend." I looked into her eyes.
Her gaze softened. "You don’t want it."
"Not yet," I confessed. "There’s too much left undone. Too much blood still to answer for. I wanted ti to rest and to spend with you, without carrying the weight of a crown on my shoulders."
redith didn’t say anything at first. She just moved closer and slid her arms around , resting her head against my chest. The warmth of her body cut through the chill of the night.
"You will be a great king," she murmured. "You already lead like one."
I huffed a low breath, my hand coming to rest on her back. "I lead because I must, not because I want to."
"Maybe that’s what makes you worthy of it."
Her words settled in the quiet between us—soft but strong enough to ease the storm twisting inside .
I closed my eyes for a mont, inhaling the scent of her hair, the faint sweetness that always grounded .
After a while, she looked up again, her violet eyes reflecting the moonlight. "What happens when Alderic is gone?"
I traced a finger along her jaw. "Then I do what I’ve been trained to do. But until then, I plan to make the most of what ti I have left before everything changes."
Her lips parted slightly. "Starting now?"
"Maybe."
She smiled, a quiet challenge in her eyes. "As long as it doesn’t involve that burning drink."
I let out a low chuckle, glancing down at the glass still in my hand. "Actually," I said, my tone shifting, "I might know a way to fix that."
Her brows rose in curiosity. "Oh? And how exactly do you make whiskey stop burning?"
I drained the rest of it in one slow swallow and set the glass down on the railing. "Like this."
Before she could ask another word, I caught her face gently between my hands and pressed my mouth to hers.
The taste of whiskey lingered on my tongue as it t hers—warm, sharp, and intoxicating.
Her breath hitched against my lips before she lted into the kiss, her hands sliding up to my shoulders.
I deepened it, letting the tension that had been building all night unravel into sothing slow and consuming.
Her lips parted, and I tasted her, the sweetness of her breath mingling with the last traces of the drink.
When I finally pulled back, she blinked up at breathlessly.
"Well," she whispered, her voice trembling between a laugh and a sigh, "that does work better."
I smiled against her lips. "Told you."
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