Seraphine Winterblade's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

His lips tasted like winter and surprise. Seraphine pulled back first, breath clouding between them, her hand still fisted in his collar. The kiss had been impulse, not strategy. Now she had to figure out what comes next. She stepped back, releasing him, and caught sight of the old watchtower behind his shoulder. Their tower. The broken pillar where they always fought stood in its shadow, and beyond that, the tree with the heart carved deep into its bark — three years of blade marks surrounding it like a history neither of them had written down. But now a wooden sign stood planted near the tower's entrance, weathered and official. She moved past him to read it. The garrison was claiming the tower. Demolition scheduled. The ground where they'd spent three years learning each other's rhythms would be gone by spring. "They can't," she said, turning to face him. He was watching her with that same look he got after their duels, the one that made her want to follow him every time. "This place is ours." "Then we tell them no." He moved beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Together." Seraphine looked at the tower, then at him, and felt something shift. Three years she'd been waiting for him to make the next move. Three years of showing up and drawing first and never saying what mattered. But he'd already said it. He'd been saying it every time he came back. Now someone else was taking their ground, and the choice was simple: let it go, or fight for it as something other than opponents. She reached for his hand. "Together," she said, and meant it as more than just the tower.