Chapter 112 Dante
Getting everyone back to the penthouse felt like herding chaos wrapped in trauma.
Seraphine barely made it five steps out of the council hall before the women closed ranks around her like instinct had rewritten their understanding of safety. They walked shoulder to shoulder with her, some holding her sleeves, others just close enough to brush her arm every few steps like they needed the reassurance that she was real. That she hadn’t vanished the moment the verdict was passed.
I didn’t tell them to back off.
I didn’t have it in me.
And honestly? I didn’t want to.
If being near her grounded them, then they could cling as much as they wanted.
The ride back was quieter than I expected. Exhausted quiet. The kind that settles after a storm when the sky hasn’t decided whether it’s done breaking things yet. Lucian drove like his life depended on not hitting a single bump, Amara kept glancing back to check on everyone, and Seraphine sat in the middle of the back seat with three women pressed against her like she was a living anchor.
She looked tired.
Not weak. Not fading.
Just… tired.
When we pulled into the underground garage of the penthouse, a woman in practical clothes and boots stepped out from the elevator, tablet tucked under her arm. She took one look at the group and nodded.
“All clear,” she said briskly. “The heart’s gone. Residual magic is minimal. You might notice some lingering emotional static, maybe a weird echo or two, but nothing dangerous. The structure itself is sound. No need to destroy it.”
Lucian let out a breath I don’t think he’d realized he was holding. “You’re sure?”
She smiled faintly. “I don’t say that word unless I mean it.”
“Thank you,” Seraphine said, her voice soft but steady.
The woman glanced at her, something like awe flickering across her face, then nodded once more and disappeared back into the elevator.
Upstairs, the chaos resumed—but lighter this time. People talking over each other, questions, laughter that edged on hysterical. Lucian immediately took charge in the most Lucian way possible.
“Okay!” he announced, clapping once. “Food in the kitchen. Water everywhere. No one make any major life decisions tonight. If you need a room, pick one that doesn’t already have a person crying in it.”
“That’s very specific,” Amara muttered.
“Experience,” he replied solemnly.
That was my opening.
I caught Seraphine’s hand gently, just enough pressure to let her know I was there, then leaned in. “Come with me.”
She looked up at me, surprised, then nodded.
Lucian saw it happen and didn’t even blink. He just waved a hand. “I’ve got them. Go.”
I didn’t give myself time to second-guess it.
I led her down the hall and into my room, closing the door behind us with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.
Silence fell.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
I turned to face her, and suddenly all the things I’d held together through councils and verdicts and ancient dragons came crashing down at once.
She looked at me like she was bracing for something.
I swallowed.
“Are you still…,” I started, then stopped, breath catching. Gods, when had words gotten so hard?
She waited. Patient. Open.
“Am I still what you want?” I asked finally. “After everything. After today. Do you still want to mate with me? To share that brand?”
Her brow furrowed instantly. “Dante—”
“I need you to answer,” I said quietly. “Not as the High Priestess. As you.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. “I laid claim to you in front of the Old Guard for a reason.”
I felt my chest loosen just a fraction.
“I still want you,” she continued. “I just… I don’t know how any of this works now. I don’t know how to be a High Priestess. I don’t know how to lay claim properly, or how to share a mating mark, or how this changes things. I feel like someone handed me a crown and forgot to include instructions.”
Despite myself, a quiet laugh slipped out of me.
She shot me a look. “Not funny.”
“I know,” I said gently. “But you’re not alone in it.”
She hesitated. “What if I do it wrong?”
“Then we fix it,” I said without missing a beat. “I’ll teach you what I know. Lucian will teach you what he knows. And your dragon?” I smiled softly. “She’s clearly not shy about giving feedback.”
That earned a huff of reluctant amusement from her.
I stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. “We’ll figure out the titles. The rituals. The laws. None of that matters more than us.”
Her eyes searched my face. “You’re not afraid?”
“I’m terrified,” I admitted. “But not of you. Never of you.”
Something in her softened then, tension easing just enough for her shoulders to drop.
“I love you,” I said.
The words landed between us, solid and sure.
Her breath hitched.
I didn’t rush her. Didn’t move.
Then she stepped into me.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, resting my forehead against hers. The heat between us was gentle this time, familiar, like something finally allowed to rest.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
I kissed her then—soft, unhurried, full of promise instead of urgency.
Her lips parted under mine, inviting without demand, and I deepened the kiss just a fraction, tasting the salt of unspoken fears on her tongue.
My hands slid up her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric of her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin radiate like a quiet flame.
She melted against me, her body fitting into mine as if we'd been carved from the same stone, worn smooth by time. A soft sigh escaped her, brushing my mouth, and I responded by tilting her head gently, exploring the softness of her with a reverence that made my chest ache.
We stayed like that for what felt like hours, the world narrowing to the press of her breasts against my chest, the subtle shift of her hips as she leaned in closer. My thumb grazed the nape of her neck, eliciting a shiver that traveled down her arms, her fingers curling into my shirt.
When we finally broke apart, her eyes were bright, searching mine in the dim light. "I've wanted this," she murmured, her voice a thread of silk. "For so long."