The stars were veiled that night, hidden behind a silver stretch of clouds that drifted over Blackthorn Academy. The aftermath of the first trial still hung heavy in the halls, but within Selene's dorm, there was only the soft flicker of candlelight and the echo of rain trailing down the glass.
She sat on the edge of her bed, a robe drawn tightly around her, hair damp from a restless shower that hadn't quite washed away the memory of danger or the tremor in her limbs. Her hands still bore faint smudges of ash from the trial's final moments. She'd felt powerful, yes—but exposed. As if the fire they'd conjured to survive had burned through her carefully layered defenses.
A soft knock sounded. Three beats. Familiar, hesitant.
"Come in," she said, already knowing who it was.
Matthew stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His tunic was rumpled, his sleeves pushed to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with half-healed scrapes. His eyes met hers and didn't look away.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked.
He shook his head and stepped closer. "You were incredible today."
She gave a tired smile. "I was terrified."
"So was I. But you didn't show it."
Selene glanced at the floor, voice soft. "That's the point, isn't it? Showing fear means weakness."
Matthew lowered himself to sit on the bed beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. "Then maybe I've been weak this whole time, because I was scared for you. Not just in the trial—before, too. When I saw you with the Council, when that book started reacting to your blood..."
His voice trailed off, and silence settled between them. Outside, the rain intensified.
Selene turned to him slowly. "Why? Why does it matter so much to you?"
He let out a breath. "Because you matter to me."
The words were simple, unadorned, and devastating. She wasn't prepared for the way they cracked something open inside her.
She swallowed. "You shouldn't. I'm not... I'm not good at this. At letting people in."
"You don't have to be good at it," he said gently. "You just have to want to try."
She met his gaze fully now, and the emotion there—raw, honest—stilled her breath. His hand, rough and warm, found hers between them.
Selene's voice shook. "What if I break it? Us?"
"Then we'll fix it," he said without hesitation. "Together."
Her heart thudded in her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in—slowly, uncertainly. Matthew met her halfway.
Their kiss wasn't fiery or rushed. It was slow, reverent, the kind of kiss that asked a question and received an answer.
When they pulled apart, Matthew rested his forehead gently against hers. "We don't have to define anything now. But I'm here. For you. Not the heir. Not the power. Just Selene."
She closed her eyes. A single tear slipped free.
He reached up, brushed it away.
They didn't speak again that night. Instead, they lay side by side on her bed, fully clothed, fingers interlaced between them. The candle burned low, and the storm outside wept for them both.
And for the first time in what felt like centuries of loneliness, Selene let herself feel something fragile and warm.
Hope.