Chapter 101 Dante
The door shut behind us with a sound that felt heavier than it should have.
Not a slam. Not anger.
Finality.
“Everyone,” I said, turning as I stepped fully into Seraphine’s living room, “we need to talk. All of us.”
No one argued.
That alone told me how deep tonight had cut.
The townhouse looked lived-in in the way only aftermaths do—blankets half-folded, cups abandoned on side tables, someone’s shoes kicked off in a corner like they’d forgotten gravity existed for a minute. The women settled where they could: couch arms, floor cushions, the rug. Seraphine hovered near the center of it all without meaning to, like gravity had quietly rearranged itself around her.
I waited until everyone was still.
Then I asked the question I’d been avoiding since we left the council hall.
“What do you think happens tomorrow?”
Silence.
Not empty—thinking.
One of the women spoke first. The stormborn. Valin’s territory. She sat straighter than she had earlier, shoulders no longer caved inward.
“I think Thane should be banished,” she said plainly. “Stripped of his crown. Of his land. Of everything.”
A murmur followed—agreement, anger, relief.
Another woman nodded. “He shouldn’t be allowed near anyone ever again.”
A third added quietly, “If he keeps his title, this doesn’t stop. It just hides.”
Seraphine’s gaze lifted to me, then to Lucian. Thoughtful. Careful.
“Is that even possible?” she asked. “To strip a king like that?”
Lucian and I shared a look.
One we hadn’t needed words for in centuries.
Amara noticed immediately.
“There it is,” she said, arms crossing. “That look. Which means something else is going on.”
Lucian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I can call my father. Ask about precedent. But…” He hesitated, then looked directly at Seraphine. “If you step into what you are—fully—then the laws change.”
Every eye turned to her.
“In what way?” one of the women asked.
Lucian chose his words carefully. “Once a High Priestess is recognized, king or not, you obey her.”
The room went very still.
“She’s… stronger than any of us,” he continued. “Not in raw force. In authority. In balance. In the way the old laws were written.”
Seraphine stared at him, wide-eyed.
Fear flickered there.
So did something else.
Excitement.
Possibility.
Amara watched her closely, then turned to me. “And what does that make you?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She didn’t blink. “If she’s a High Priestess. And you’re mated to her. What does that make you?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Blinking, I realized—with a jolt—that I hadn’t thought of that at all.
Lucian answered for me, because of course he did.
“You’d be a consort-priest,” he said. “King-Priestess, technically. Her equal in bond. Not in command.”
I swallowed.
“She would still lead,” he added. “Still decide. Still be… the top dog.”
A snort escaped Amara before she could stop it. “That tracks.”
The women were staring at Seraphine now.
Not with fear.
With admiration.
One of them whispered, “She saved us.”
Another said softly, “She listened.”
Seraphine shifted, uncomfortable. “I didn’t do this alone.”
“No,” the stormborn woman said. “But you did it when you didn’t have to.”
That landed harder than any praise.
Seraphine’s hands curled in her sleeves. I could see the weight settling on her shoulders—not crushing, but real.
“I don’t want power for the sake of it,” she said. “I don’t want to replace one tyrant with another.”
“And you won’t,” Amara said firmly. “Because that’s not who you are.”
Lucian nodded. “That’s exactly why the role fits you.”
I finally found my voice.
“Tomorrow,” I said slowly, “is going to be a reckoning. Thane won’t back down quietly. Kael won’t either. Valin…” I exhaled. “Valin will choose whichever path keeps the storm from tearing everything apart.”
Seraphine looked at me then. Really looked.
“And you?” she asked. “What do you think happens tomorrow?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“I think you walk into that council as yourself,” I said. “Not as my mate. Not as their solution. As the woman who refused to let anyone die for convenience.”
The room held its breath.
“And if they don’t listen?” one of the women asked.
I felt my fire stir—steady, contained.
“Then we make them,” I said quietly.
Seraphine smiled at that. Small. Crooked. Tired.
“You’re terrifying when you’re calm,” she murmured.
I stepped closer without thinking. Not touching—just present.
“And you,” I replied, “are terrifying when you’re honest.”
She huffed a weak laugh. “Great. We’re doomed.”
Amara stretched, cracking her neck. “Okay. So tomorrow we dethrone a king, rewrite dragon law, and possibly prevent extinction.”
Lucian checked his phone. “And I still want tacos afterward.”
A few of the women laughed. Real laughter. The kind that means you’re still alive.
I took that as a good sign.
Lucian was already pulling his phone from his pocket.
“I’m calling my father,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Before we plan anything. If Seraphine really outranks the crown once she steps into this, I want it confirmed. Not assumed.”
“Good,” Amara said, pushing herself up from the couch. “I’m taking a shower before my skin starts smelling like stress and conspiracy.” She pointed at the women. “Don’t break anything. Or anyone.”
She disappeared down the hall.
The living room slowly filled with low conversation again—soft voices, tired laughter, the sound of people who were still alive and trying to believe it. A few of the women were talking about tomorrow. About what they’d say. About what they wanted back.
I barely heard any of it.
Because Seraphine was standing there, hands folded in front of her like she didn’t know where to put them, eyes thoughtful and far away.
She looked… small again.
Not weak. Never that.
Just exhausted.
I took a step toward her, intent clear in my chest. I was going to pull her into me, ground her, kiss her like I should have hours ago. Remind her she wasn’t carrying this alone.
“Sera—”
Her knees buckled.
For half a heartbeat, my brain refused to accept it.
Then she was falling.
I moved without thinking.
I caught her before her head could hit the floor, dropping to one knee with her weight in my arms. Her body went slack against me, eyes closed, lashes dark against her cheeks.
“Seraphine!” I barked.
Panic exploded through my veins.
She was burning.
Not metaphorically.
Her skin was hot—too hot—heat pouring off her in waves that made the air shimmer. I could feel it through my clothes, through my fire, like standing too close to a forge that had lost all regulation.
“Lucian!” I snapped.