The war council chamber was filled with cold light coming through the tall stained glass windows. The air was tense, as if before a storm. Kian stood at the center, in shining armor, reserved but confident. His golden eyes were fixed on the figure of the mage at the window.

"You are acting without consent again, Lucian," he began, his voice even but with steel behind it. "You activated the seals on the northern gate without informing me or the guards."

Lucian, in his long dark robe, was in no hurry to turn around. He slowly raised his wine glass, taking a sip, as if the argument was not about the empress, but about something insignificant.

"I saved you time. Your guards would not have noticed the energy leak even if it had passed through the main courtyard."

Kian came closer, his every step echoing: "You value magic above all else, but you forget that the real threat may come not from beyond the wall, but from your own arrogance."

Lucian turned slowly, amber eyes meeting gold.

"You are not afraid for the Empire. You are afraid of losing it. Admit it."

Kian felt his chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, his heart pounding harder. "I will not let your shadow block her light," he said dully, and turned sharply, leaving a vibration of anger in his wake.

The corridors of the castle seemed too narrow for his thoughts. They followed, clinging to his shoulders. "I must make my point. She must hear me. I... I will not let Lucian make decisions for everyone."

He turned into the garden. The air was sweet, scented with jasmine and lilac. The soft evening sun fell on the marble paths, and the shade of the trees embraced the blooming flowerbeds.

It was here that he froze. Around the corner, by the fountain with lilies, the Empress was sitting at an elegant table, and opposite her was Florian. Light, brilliant, with a soft smile, he was telling something, and her laughter sounded like music.

Kaian remained in the shadows, not wanting to interfere. His gaze lingered on her face, so calm, so distant.

“I go into battle for her. I hold a weapon, sacrifice sleep, honor... But maybe all she needs is lightness? And not steel in armor?”

Florian, as if sensing his gaze, slightly turned his head. Their gazes crossed, and Kaian immediately looked away. He didn't want Florian to see pain in them.

The day was drawing to a close, painting the sky in deep purple and gold hues. The air above the training grounds still held the warmth left by the sun, but inside Kian everything was cold - the tense quarrel with Lucian gave off a dull pain under his ribs.

He practiced his blows furiously until his fingers began to cramp. The sword slipped from his palms, and the armor that always seemed familiar pressed with its weight. At that moment, cautious footsteps were heard a step away from him.

He turned around.

Before him stood her personal assistant - young, respectful, with eyes downcast.

"Her Majesty wishes for you to join her in her chambers tonight."

He did not answer immediately. He only nodded slowly. The assistant left, leaving behind a faint scent of lilac, and Kian still stood, as if he had heard a call that he both feared and craved.

"She called me... Not as a paladin. Not as a warrior. But as a man?"

He entered his chambers. Everything inside, from the rustle of fabric to his reflection in the mirror, felt unreal. As if he were in a dream, where every movement meant more than words.

He removed his armor, each buckle with care, as if preparing for prayer. The body beneath was covered in scars, traces of the battles he had endured for her.

The bath of oils was waiting. Warm water embraced him, and the scents of lavender, rose, and musk slowly dissolved his fatigue. These oils were a gift from Florian. Frivolously, with a grin, but Kian remembered his words: "She said the smell calmed her."

After his bath, he dried himself with a soft cloth and applied a tiny bit of oil to his neck and wrists, feeling the warmth of his skin. His fingers trembled slightly as he combed his light brown hair, trying to style it perfectly. He dressed in light trousers, with a gold ornament at his waist, emphasizing his strength and grace. His chest was bare, save for the massive gold ornaments on his shoulders, symbolizing his status. Over this, a light cloak that flowed freely down his back like a cloud of light. He buttoned it, but despite all the splendor, he felt vulnerable, as if his bare chest was open to the world.

He stood at her door. His heart was beating too loudly. He raised his hand and knocked. Once. Twice. Three.

The doors opened.

And the world stood still.

The Empress sat in a chair by the fireplace. The soft flames reflected in the glass of wine in her fingers, illuminating her face. She was barefoot, in a light robe of translucent silk, her hair loose. At that moment, she looked not like the Empress, but like the Night itself: powerful, beautiful and impossible.

He entered, not taking his eyes off her. Each of his steps on the marble floor was slow, like a step on a battlefield.

Approaching her, he dropped to one knee. His palms lay on the floor, his gaze directed upward.

He did not speak in the voice of a paladin. Not as a warrior. Not as a servant.

"If you called me, I belong to you. And tonight, and any day. In any battle. In every look. I do not ask to be loved. I ask to be near. And if you allow, I will become a shield not only at the throne, but also at your heart."

She looked at him for a long time. The candle flame trembled. There was something inscrutable in her gaze. Maybe weakness. Maybe desire. Or... loneliness, familiar to him too.

He didn't ask for permission, didn't come closer, didn't touch.

He just waited.

As always, he waited for her choice.