Private Shadows on the Shore

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X

Post - Future Regents Dinner​

Aurelian's shoes sank deep into the sand as he walked down from the terrace. The night air was sharper here, the salted wind whipping at his hair. His steps were clumsy, until he finally stopped where the surf touched the shore. He dropped heavily to the ground, settling just beyond the reach of the waves, the sand immediately clinging to his fine trousers.

The Corellian whiskey burned its way down his throat in one long swallow. He drained the glass as though it could somehow scour the knot of dread twisting in his stomach. It didn't. He let the empty crystal fall into the sand beside him, half-buried and forgotten. With a long breath that tasted of salt and smoke, he lowered himself back, sprawling in the cool grit, his eyes fixed on the stars above.

They stared down at him like a thousand cold judges, indifferent and endless. He tried to follow them, to map constellations as he had done when he was a boy, sneaking out past the palace walls. But his thoughts twisted, faster and sharper than any starlight, refusing to be stilled.

How does he deal with her?

How could he possibly have Thessaly back in his life, she was a prison he thought he was finally free of? What would she say when she found out Remus was gone? Would she claim his death as her due, a right to the Veruna legacy for herself?

The very thought made his chest tighten. She could. Of course she could. Thessaly had always known how to diminish him, to press her heel down and grind until he broke. She didn't even need a title to rule him, she never had.

Aurelian pressed his hands into the sand at his sides, fists clenching. His breath shortened, growing ragged. His heart thudded too quickly, too loud, each beat a drum inside his ribs. The world tilted around him, and the roar of the surf closed in until it felt suffocating.

He was trapped. Always trapped: by his father, by her, by the very name he carried.

The dangerous smile he wore so easily, along with his charm and cunning, all of it felt miles away, unreachable, useless. Tonight, he was nothing but a boy again, drowning in a prison he couldn't touch, bound by chains of memory and blood.

His eyes fluttered shut. He braced himself, already imagining her voice, sharp as broken glass, ready to cut into him, to leave him raw. Then, a faint but undeniable shuffle of feet in the sand reached his ears.

Had she followed him?

Aurelian's jaw clenched, and he squeezed his eyes tighter, preparing for the verbal blade he knew was coming.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The sand shifted softly beneath her slow and steady steps that sent a scattering of sand with every movement forward. Sibylla had spent too long smoothing tempers and stitching dignity back together upstairs, and the effort of it clung like an exhausting second weight. Yet all of it fell away when she glimpsed the dark figure stretched against the beach, the lines of tension clear even in starlight.

Aurelian Veruna , laid raw and bare beneath the open sky.

Sibylla left her heels behind to trek the slow path barefoot over until she came to a stop beside him. The first tell she wasn’t Thessaly was that no sharp words cut their way to him, no familiar venom to lash him raw. The second was the delicate scent of Naboo waterlilies that lingered with the sea breeze brine.

She then folded down into the sand next to him with a graceless flop than usual, the fabric pulling about her knees. The chill of the night seeped into her skin as her bare toes went curling into the grains of sand. For a moment she only sat, listening to the rhythm of the waves, her gaze following the horizon where sky and sea blurred together.

Sibylla didn't press, didn't pry. The tension carved into his face was answer enough. Instead she turned her eyes seaward, allowing the wind to pull stray strands of hair free to dance across her cheek.

"I haven't been to the seaside in years," she admitted in a quiet tone. A wistful note touched her lips, the kind born of memory rather than politics.

Whatever had been said, whatever shadow that woman full of vitriol had dragged back into his world, Sibylla knew this much: silence shared was better than silence endured alone. So she let it stand, the two of them side by side in the starlit dark, the hush of the surf holding back words neither of them was ready to face.

Then came the clink of glass as she tipped the whiskey bottle she'd pilfered from a flustered bartender earlier and refilled her glass, only to hold it out toward him where he lay.

"Would you like some more whiskey?" Her voice was gentle, the edge of humor threaded through it, as though daring him to refuse something so plainly needed. She set the bottle into the sand beside her to be easily accessible.

Then simply waited.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian had steeled himself for the usual: the venom, the razor-sharp words. His jaw clenched, breath held tight. But the silence that followed felt strange, unnatural. No blow landed. Instead, he heard the soft rustle of fabric, the delicate press of bare feet against the sand. Then came the faint, sweet scent of waterlilies, cutting through the salty air.

His eyes shot open, a sharp exhale leaving his lungs. It wasn't her. It wasn't Thessaly. Relief hit him so suddenly it was almost painful. Sibylla was there, folded into the sand without any of her usual grace, her hair playing loose in the wind. For a moment, he simply stared, disoriented by the lack of cruelty where he had so certainly expected it.

He didn't move, not right away. He lay flat on his back, letting the thunder in his chest calm down, letting her soft, even wistful voice settle over him like a balm. She didn't demand or probe. She simply existed in that space. That alone lifted a weight from his shoulders he hadn't realized he was carrying.

Only when she reached for the bottle and offered him more did he push himself upright, his elbows digging furrows in the sand. He took it without a second thought, pouring the amber liquid until it trembled near the glass's rim. He took one long swallow, enough to quiet the raw edge of his nerves, then let the silence settle between them.

It felt surprisingly comfortable. Strange, yes, but welcome. He could almost pretend the tide was speaking for him.

Finally, he broke the quiet. "Parrlay's coast," he said, his voice rough from the drink and frayed nerves, "has more cliffs than beaches. They're sharp, unforgiving places. But if you climbed just right, near the Rainspire, there was one spot. A hidden beach."

He rolled the glass absently in his hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sea met the sky. "I used to go there as a boy. To escape him." His mouth twisted, bitterness catching on the word. "And her. Thessaly. It was the only place I could sit and listen to the waves and just, for a little while, quiet my mind. Stop the constant racing."

The admission hung in the air, rawer than he would have preferred, but the whiskey kept it from lodging in his throat. He sipped again, slower this time, his eyes flicking toward Sibylla.

"You need to avoid her," he said, quieter now, but sharp with purpose. "People think I'm cruel. They think my father was worse." His hand tightened around the glass, knuckles pale in the starlight. "But Thessaly, she's something else entirely. She's the monster everyone should truly fear."

He left it at that, his gaze falling to the sand between them. His breath was ragged again, but somehow steadier than before, as if simply naming the fear had given him some small foothold.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

Sibylla's hazel eyes lingered on Aurelian as the rim of his glass tipped again and again, each swallow carving deeper lines into his face. The sound of the surf carried her back to that office, to words he had once spoken to her in his office when she'd unraveled in front of him… now they took on a different meaning.

You'll find what you like eventually. Whiskey might not be it…But it grows on you when you've needed it enough.

Only now did she understand how much of him had been hidden in those words. Thessaly was no jilted flame. No past scandal. She was blood - - Kin. And somehow that felt far worse.

She couldn’t imagine Cassian Abrantes or her younger brother, much less their father acting in such a way. It was inconceivable.

Yet her mind began to paint the edges of a childhood she had never known. One stripped of sanctuary, where siblings sharpened into tormentors and fathers ground their sons into silence. It tugged at her heart, but what burned most was not sympathy and certainly not pity.

It was anger. A pure, clean anger that any child should have been forced to seek cliffs and hidden beaches just to breathe.

Her hand curled loosely in the folds of her dark skirt trying her best to not blurt out words needlessly, taking a long swallow of the amber liquid in her own glass. He was being serious about his warning. This was Aurelian warning her to stay away from Thessaly Veruna as if she were Pandora's box of mal fortune set to wreck Aurelian’s, Sibylla and everyone in between.

It enraged Sibylla even further.

"One doesn't avoid wretches like her, Aurelian," she murmured, her gaze fixed first on the horizon, then on him.

"Doing so only gives them the illusion of power. They live for the reaction. That is their fuel for their fire."

It was easy to say. She knew it would not be easy to live. Not for him, not after all she'd glimpsed tonight.

Her eyes returned to his and while the evening light only shadowed their color, her following words conveyed a side of her so very rarely seen.

"I don't see her as a monster," she admitted, her voice stripped of courtly pretense as it lay bare in that melodic honesty, taking another sip that warmed her to her core, perhaps loosening the tongue for what she was about to say.

She paused long enough for the waves to crash and withdraw again.

"I see her as a bítch."

The word landed with a finality, coated with her anger and the certainty that he deserved far better than the fear she had glimpsed in him.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian blinked, taken aback, then a low chuckle escaped him. This wasn't the sharp, dangerous laugh he used at court; it was softer, stripped down by the surf and stars. He'd never heard Sibylla curse before. "Shiraya..." he muttered, shaking his head, a faint grin playing on his lips. "Sibylla Abrantes, cursing like a smuggler. You've shocked me."

His smile faded quickly, his eyes returning to the dark sea. "You're not wrong, though. She is a bǐtch. Cruel and conniving." His voice grew thin, raw. "But she's more than that. People forget over time. They soften the truth in their memories, especially when it comes to Royals; they bury the rot until it feels like it never existed. But Thessaly..." He shook his head, pouring another drink, his gaze narrowing as if he could see her ghost on the waves. "They'll remember. Soon enough. She's had over a decade to sharpen her knives. Shiraya only knows what she's become." The glass trembled faintly as he raised it, drinking deep as if whiskey could drown the thought. And when she learns that their father is gone... nothing will hold her back... Nothing.

He let the words hang, heavy as the outgoing tide. For a long moment, he was silent, shoulders tense, until his gaze shifted to her. Her hazel eyes were steady where his faltered. He exhaled slowly, the bitterness loosening just slightly. "You're lucky," he said finally, without a hint of jest. "To have grown up with them. A family that cared, at least from what it looks like. Cassian," his mouth twisted, but for once there was no venom behind the name, only a kind of grudging respect. "For as much as I can't stand him, at least he was loyal to you. To them. That kind of loyalty..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if the thought itself stung. "I never had it."

Aurelian rolled his glass again, watching the shifting amber light within, until something pulled at his memory: her at the table, her composure cracking, that moment her smile faltered. He straightened a little, studying her now instead of the sea. "But enough about my family," he said, his voice sharpening with intent. "Something cut through you tonight. I saw it. You're usually armor itself, but something pierced you." He tilted his glass slightly in her direction, as if to underline the word. "Are you going to tell me what it was?"

He paused only briefly, then added with a dry, self-deprecating curl of his lips, "I'll admit, I let Bastila bait me. My tongue ran away with me. Hardly the first time you've witnessed it. But you," his gaze fixed, unflinching now, "whatever it was that shook you." He left the silence open, waiting, the wind tugging at his dark hair.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

Sibylla tipped back her glass, the whiskey burning warm down her throat, before sliding Aurelian a wry side-eye at his jab.

"Go on then. Chastise me," she dared, rolling her eyes.

It earned her something rare. Aurelian laughed. Really laughed. The sound cut through the fear that had been clinging to him all night, and she decided it was a curse word well spent. Above them, the stars shone, their silver light stretching over the restless sea.

But when his words drifted back to Thessaly, the picture sharpened in her mind: venom in the shape of a woman, more serpent than sister. The thought made her jaw clench. Anger rose hot in her cheeks, but she held it back. This wasn't her moment. This was his.

She found she couldn't resent Aurelian's bitterness toward her family. If anything, it helped her begin to understand why he carried such sharp disdain for her House in the first place.

Because she was fortunate. Blessed, even. Her father and mother had loved her and her brothers without condition. There had been expectations, yes, but never cruelty. Duty, but never the stripping away of affection. In all the ways that mattered, they had given her a foundation to stand on.

Aurelian had never known that kind of loyalty. The that sort of unshakable support that Cassian Abrantes and her father gave to her was something he had been denied all his life. That realization tugged at her.

So her gaze lingered on him, the night breeze stirring loose strands of dark hair across her face.

"I know I'm not family," she said at last, her voice quiet but certain. "And by no means is it a replacement for what you've gone through. But you have me."

Her breath caught before she looked back to the sea, her next words firm, deliberate, as she had done earlier that night when she stood by her vote and support of him.

"You have my loyalty, Aurelian."

The truth hung there between them. For the faith and trust she'd grown to have in him had been forged in years of careful observation. Sure, it hadn’t started out that way, but it had grown the more she'd came to know him. Really know him. And how he'd been doing his best to offer try to be as real as he could be with her when they were alone.

She gave it a moment, then added with a half smile, "Don't mistake me. Your temper was a menace tonight. But you admit it. You learn. That's more than most. We all fight our demons. I've mine too."

Her glass tilted again. She let the whiskey linger, coating her tongue before she swallowed. Silence stretched, but she knew she couldn't leave it there. Not after what he'd confessed. He had tried to be honest with her, and to answer with anything less would be an insult.

She gave a small, awkward laugh. "You were right. The taste does get better."

She drew a breath, then let the memories unravel into story.

She told him of the first Mandalorian raid years ago. Of the Padawan she had stumbled across, of the blaster she had pulled from a raider's corpse, of the detonator that nearly seared her shoulder raw. Of the Force healing that followed, and his arrogant and unexpected quips. Of his strange philosophy about balancing freedom, love, and duty, and his refusal to be anyone's pawn.

And as she spoke, her expression shifted, drifting from wry to wistful to something edged in longing. She described the way he had challenged her, the way he seemed utterly unbound by what anyone thought of him. The way she had envied that freedom.

"…the Order assigned him as a temporary guard to me after the raids," she continued, voice quieter now.

"He was with me when Dee'ja Peak fell. He stood by me when we took down the generator and reclaimed it. And then… he left. Off on some quest for enlightenment." Her lips twisted with faint, self-deprecating humor.

"I told him it was a midlife crisis of terrible desert aesthetics and far too much sand."

Her smile faltered as she went on. The messages, the constant exchange, the way he had become her friend and confidant, without her quite realizing when it happened. The way it had been freeing. Nice. Special.

Her gaze drifted back to the sea, words tumbling too quickly now, the way they did when her guard slipped. There was no going back now.

"Jedi Padawan Lysander von Ascania," she said at last, his name catching in her throat. She tossed back the rest of her glass, refilling it too quickly.

"My first foray into a broken heart."

A small, rueful smile tugged at her lips as she raised the glass toward the sky.

"Well, there you have it. Story time with Sibylla."Her lips twisted in something close to irony, taking a deep swallow of her glass before she set it down beside her.

Busy. She needed to keep her hands busy. Drinking wasn't enough.

A quick motion and she tugged at the large pin holding the thick mass of her hair in place.

"Next chapter, perhaps," she added in a ramble, her hand raking through the long tresses to let them flow free about her bare shoulders, running and twisting her fingers through it as if it the act alone could distract her mind, "…my ongoing conspiracy plot to free Vere from her chains and reunite her with Set. Because even ancient love stories deserve their ending."

She was rambling, Shiraya was she rambling, the words tumbling too fast, too raw, the way a teenager might when drink had loosened her tongue past repair.

Because that was exactly what she was.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian let his hand drag through the sand at his side, smoothing it flat as though the act alone might steady the whirl of thoughts in his head. Her wry side-eye, her daring him to chastise her; it pulled another laugh from him, rough and genuine. He leaned back on one arm, dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"No," he said, lips quirking into something softer than his usual dangerous smile. He wouldn't chastise her. If anything, he'd encourage it. She should curse more often. Shiraya knows she's earned the right. He liked seeing that side of her, the one not trying so damned hard to be perfect for everyone at all times.

Then she spoke again, her voice quieter, certain, telling him he had her loyalty. His chest tightened, not the ragged panic of before, but something deeper, heavier. Loyalty. Given freely. Not bartered, not bought, not twisted into a weapon. He hadn't realized until this moment how badly he'd wanted to hear those words, how starved he was for them.

He stayed quiet for a long moment, simply watching her in the shifting starlight. When she lifted her glass again, admitting the taste was growing on her, he reached over and poured more amber whiskey into it without a word, careful not to spill, his hand steady though he felt anything but.

And then he listened. Really listened. Her story unfolded in fragments at first, then in a flood. His gaze never wavered from her face as she spoke of raids, detonators, scars both physical and unseen. A Padawan with sharp words and stranger philosophies. A bond forged in the fire of war, tempered with late-night messages, laughter, something tender she hadn't even meant to fall into.

Lysander von Ascania.

The name landed like a stone in his gut. His mouth tightened, though he forced himself to keep still. Idiot. Gods-damned fool. He had thrown that name around earlier at dinner like a weapon, wielding it to prove a point, to cut where he shouldn't have. He thought he'd only nicked at pride, but here... here was the wound beneath it. The raw truth of her first broken heart. And he had twisted the knife without even knowing.

How many more times will you let your tongue ruin what little good you have, Aurelian? How many people will you drive away?

Her words faltered toward the end, the awkward laugh, the way her hands busied themselves in her hair as though distraction might dam the tide. He couldn't watch her unravel like that, not when she'd sat through his own frayed edges only minutes ago.

Setting his glass down in the sand, he reached out and caught her hand in his, fingers closing warm and firm around hers. He didn't speak right away. He just held, steadying.

When he finally did, his voice was low, uncharacteristically careful. "Sibylla… I'm sorry. For speaking about things I didn't truly know. For dragging up names I had no right to touch. I didn't mean to bring any of that pain back to the surface. That was… cruel of me, whether I realized it or not."

His thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles, grounding himself as much as her. "For what it's worth, you have me as well. My loyalty. My ear, whenever you need it. We both know what's coming if we're elected. They'll all want pieces of us... dragging, tearing, whispering. And Thessaly…" His jaw tightened before he forced it to unclench. "Thessaly will be the worst of them all. But it's good to know I have someone in my corner for once. And you should know... I'll always return the favor."

The faintest ghost of his smile flickered back, but this time there was no blade in it, no courtly mask. just something raw, almost boyish. "Even if you are an Abrantes," he added, the joke dry but warm at the edges, like the burn of the whiskey in his chest.

He squeezed her hand once more before letting silence settle again, the crash of the tide filling the space between them.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Sibylla blinked when Aurelian's hand closed over hers, its steady warmth cutting through whiskey haze and lingering heartbreak drawing her rambling attention and fixing it upon him instead. She sat very still for a moment, hazel eyes tracing the dark outline of his fingers folded firmly around her own. The sand pressed cool beneath her, the tide filling the silence he left, and she realized she hadn't expected Aurelian Veruna to be capable of gentleness.

No, that wasn't true. He had shown her before, in his office, when he pressed his forehead to hers and held her close as he apologized for pushing too far.

Aurelian could be more than his temper and his edges when he chose to be. And being the one he gave that rare softness to, now left her with something she hadn't expected to feel. Something that made her feel special. Seen.

Her gaze flicked toward him, lashes lowering half-shaded over hazel eyes. The whiskey had loosened her tongue, but it had thinned her composure too. Heat lingered in her cheeks, part drink, part the brush of his thumb across her knuckles, relaying a tenderness that did not fit the man courtly whispers painted him to be.

And when he apologized, Sibylla let it linger, let herself feel the weight of it. He meant it. She could hear it in his stripped-down, low timbre, in how it lacked the dangerous edge or baited charm it usually contained. And when he spoke of his loyalty and his ear freely given, something twisted warm in her chest, carrying the same heat as the Corellian whiskey.

Gratefulness. Relief. Affection.

"Thank you for the apology," she said gently. "You couldn't have known, and I don't hold it against you. Besides…" her gaze drifted toward the sea, words quieter now, "I think I'm starting to realize it's easier now to speak of it than to keep it locked inside or play my emotions out on the piano."

Perhaps that way, the ache might fade a little faster with time.

A thought rose easily, coaxed forward by drink. Her lips curved into a wry smile.

"And careful, Aurelian," she said softly. "Nowhere in that did I hear a single professional emphasis at all. I just might take you seriously in your unprofessionalism moving forward."

The tease landed somewhere between jest and truth, and the absence of his usual charm made it feel all the more genuine.

The tide crashed and retreated as the sea breeze lifted stray strands of hair anew, carrying the faint perfume of water lilies she always wore. She tilted her head, hazel eyes seeking his, her hand tightening faintly in his in encouragement.

"But I'll take it. And I'll remember it. Because you're right. They'll each want their pound of flesh. They'll want to see us torn apart…" Her voice dipped, hesitation softening the edges of her next words.

"What is it you fear Thessaly will do?"

She shifted closer, turning so her body angled toward him, her hand still caught in his. She wanted to understand. Needed to.

"I'm here to help you, Aurelian," she said, her voice steady despite the haze of drink. "But I walk blind if I don't know what it is we face. What troubles you so deeply? What made you react the way you did at dinner?"

Such a scene, she knew, could not be repeated again.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian's brow arched when she mentioned the piano, and for a moment the heaviness between them thinned. His lips twitched, amusement playing at the corners. "Of course," he murmured, almost to himself, though not unkindly. The Abrantes daughter, of course, plays the piano. It fit her so perfectly he could almost laugh.

His gaze lingered on her, curiosity breaking through the exhaustion etched in his features. "I'd wager you play beautifully," he said at last, a smile curving slow and unguarded across his face. This was the kind of smile that softened his usual sharpness. He could picture it: her seated before ivory keys, the poise of her posture giving way to something freer as the music carried her. It wasn't difficult to imagine Sibylla Abrantes utterly lost in her own sound, captivating in a way that made the world itself pause to listen. Not that she wasn't already.

The image took him, pulling him into a quiet daydream. His eyes lingered on the strands of her hair, set loose by the sea breeze and catching starlight. He watched the steady burn of her hazel eyes that never seemed to flinch away from his darkness. On her lips, softening and curving as she spoke. For a few dangerous seconds, he forgot where they were, forgot the tide, the whiskey, even the weight of Veruna blood on his shoulders.

He shook himself out of it abruptly when her teasing landed, her sly note about professionalism snapping him back. A short laugh burst from him, rich and unexpected. He tipped his head, a dangerous grin tugging back into place as he leaned just a touch closer. "Careful, Sibylla. You sound like you might like me being unprofessional." A wink punctuated the words, even though his tone was more playful than biting.

But the moment didn't last. The tide drew them back to the darker waters of truth, as it always seemed to with him. His smile ebbed, his eyes sharpening, the dangerous glint hollowed out by memory.

"You don't remember her," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Even I was young when she left. But I promise you this, there is no one more foul in this galaxy than Thessaly Veruna. She doesn't exist to build or to reconcile. She exists to burn. To shatter peace. To feed on chaos."

His grip on her hand tightened faintly, as if he needed something to anchor him while he dredged up the memory. "When we were children, she tormented me. It wasn't just the usual cruelty of an older sister; it was deeper, precise. She knew how to wound me in ways that lingered, made me believe I was worthless, weak, a mistake carved from Veruna blood."

"Remus…" His jaw clenched, the name nearly spat. "Remus was only a fraction of what she was. She was the one who knew how to twist the knife."

He exhaled sharply, running his free hand back through his dark hair before resting it against his neck, heavy with tension. "And now… she's returned. That can only mean one thing: her husband is dead. Which makes her a very wealthy widow." His voice dipped, steel edging back into it. "If she's here for good, her purpose isn't nostalgia. She means to finish what my father started: to put a Veruna back on the throne. Her back."

His gaze finally snapped back to Sibylla's, harder now, his expression stripped of humor. "And to wipe your house from existence. To her, you are the Abrantes plague. She will use that word, spit it like venom, and she will not rest until she's eradicated it."

For the first time in a long while, there was no arrogance or slyness in his tone. Only urgency. "Tell Cassian to stay far away from her, Sibylla. I mean it."

The plea hung raw in the air, a rare crack in the armor of the dangerous-smiled Veruna.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

I wager you play beautifully.

The mention of the piano drew a faint smile from Sibylla, though it carried the touch of sadness. The last time she'd touched the keys, she had poured herself into a furious, demanding piece until her hands ached and her body trembled, desperate to burn away the ache of Lysander's final message. When the silence followed, it had felt too raw, too hollow, and she hadn't played since.

She just needed time.

As it was, Sibylla’s cheeks were already warm from the whiskey, but Aurelian’s playful wink sent a different flush racing over her face that could not be explained by the alcohol.

Really, he was ridiculous!

Still, as she understood that this was playful banter than his maddening playboy gimmick, she found herself quipping back, half under her breath, "If this is what you call unprofessional, I suppose I don't mind it much."

The comment should have been enough to keep the playfulness between them, but her inquiry regarding Thessaly shifted the tide. Aurelian's smile ebbed and his eyes hardened in memory… and the words that followed made her breath catch. The way Thessaly had tormented him, cut him down as a boy until he believed he was worthless. How his father had been cruel in his own right, tightening the noose to make Aurelian feel a failure.

It infuriated her again.

Her hazel eyes sparked with molten gold under the moonlight, not from drink but from the sheer fury that someone, his own sister, would carve at him so mercilessly. And he still carried it. She could see it in the way his jaw locked, the way his hand tightened over hers as if holding fast to something to keep him grounded from the memories.

No. This she could not let stand.

Certainly his warnings about the dangers to her House and her brother needed to be elaborated but for now the most important thing was helping him see a most important truth.

"Aurelian," she begain, tugging her hand free from his grasp only to lift both palms and cup his face firmly. A tendril of her hair slipped forward in the breeze, brushing his temple as she leaned close. There might have been the faintest sway in her posture, but her gaze was steady and determined to see this through.

"Stop," she told him, her voice ringing with that bossy insistence that was equal parts care and command.

"Listen to me. You are not worthless. You are not weak. You are not some mistake carved from Veruna blood."

The words burned with conviction, every one said in that melodic but firm tone, rising just enough to carry over the crash of waves. She held his gaze, hazel eyes lit gold, as if daring him to deny her.

"I've seen you stand before Confederates when their armies spilled blood at Dee'ja Peak, and you did it without flinching. I've seen you spend long nights over data and drafts, hammering out retainer agreements with Mandalore when it would have been easier to spit in their faces." She drew in a breath, though it caught a little unevenly, the whiskey lingering warm in her chest.

"I've seen you charge at the assembly demanding that we do right by defending and protecting the Republic, even after you were almost killed on Wielu with a ferocity that refused to back down. I watched you face Manda'lor the Iron with both strength and restraint, and in that moment I saw the King you would be. The one I am proud to stand beside."

Dark strands of mahogany hair whipped across her cheek as the sea breeze surged, but she didn't falter. Her fingers pressed lightly into his jawline, as if trying to anchor him to her words.

"You are more than your House's name. More than Veruna blood. Whatever barbs Thessaly thinks she can strike, they won't land, not anymore. Because you are not the boy she tormented. You are the man who will sit on that throne."

Her breath hitched then, the whiskey loosening her tongue past the point of return, but she leaned closer still, her thumbs brushing lightly across his cheekbones, holding his gaze as if she could press her conviction into him by sheer will.

"You will be, no, you already are in my mind, a King. One who will protect our people. Our home. And not just from Sith or Empire or Black Sun, but also from those like Thessaly who would attempt to tear you down to nothing. See yourself as I see you, Aurelian. She cannot take this from you. She will not."

The fire in her chest eased into a crooked smile that was a little unpolished and a little reckless, her full lips tugging with mischief as she added wryly, "And if needed, I'll just toss wine on her gown and send her running for the powder room. Let her choke on that instead of her venom."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X
​

Aurelian sat very still, as though Sibylla's hands upon his face had pinned him as firmly as iron shackles. Her palms warmed his skin, her thumbs brushing the sharp line of his cheekbones, grounding him even as her words threatened to unmoor him entirely.

He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected her, Sibylla Abrantes, of all people. Months ago, he would have sworn she was just another polished mask from House Abrantes, another perfect example of a Royal who was too good for the likes of a Veruna. He would have wagered her loyalty lay only in politics, in her house. That her words, like everyone else's, would be dipped in honey but carry venom at their root. But now, everything had shifted.

Now she held his face as if she could will his very marrow to believe her. Her conviction pressed harder than her palms, each word carving itself into him with a force he didn't know how to resist. "You are not worthless. You are not weak." Her eyes, bright with moonlit fire, refused to let him slip away into the comfort of doubt. He felt his throat tighten, something raw scraping at the walls of his chest.

He tried to look away, if only for a breath, to catch himself. But she would not let him. In her refusal, he realized something terrifying. She saw him. Aurelian. The boy torn apart by his sister, the young man clawing toward kingship, the creature stitched together by mischief, hunger, and fear. She saw past the dangerous smile he crafted, past the Veruna legacy he wrapped around himself like armor, past the throne he coveted.

She saw all of it, and instead of recoiling, she chose to stay.

His pulse thundered in his ears, adrenaline flooding his veins as though preparing him for battle. But this wasn't a duel he could win with cunning or a knife behind his back. This was something else entirely, something that left him bare.

Her words tumbled through him, a litany of his deeds, the nights of fire and blood she had watched, the ferocity she called kingly. No one, absolutely no one, had ever said such things to him. Neither Remus, nor Thessaly, nor even his most loyal allies had breathed this kind of life into him.

It was intoxicating.

"See yourself as I see you, Aurelian."

His breath came shallow, almost ragged as he held her gaze, every nerve in his body drawn taut with the weight of it. He could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume, carried on the salt wind, mingling with the sharp heat of Corellian whiskey still lingering between them. He watched the strands of her hair whip wild across her cheek, framing her features in a way that made her seem both untouchable and utterly human all at once. Her lips, curved into that reckless little smile, held both ferocity and mischief.

This was reckless, dangerous, and utterly foolish. He knew all of this. And yet, he couldn't stop himself.

Something inside him broke loose. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the months of tension, the barbed words that always seemed to circle back to this persistent heat between them. Or maybe it was simply that, for the first time in his life, someone had spoken to him as a man, seeing past the Veruna name, the dangerous smile, and the knife behind the back.

His hand moved almost of its own will, sliding up from where it held hers to rest against her jaw, mirroring her grip on him. He leaned forward, the space between them charged with a silence heavier than any courtroom or battlefield. His heart hammered, a war drum in his chest.

And then, without another thought, without permission or control, Aurelian kissed her.

It was reckless. It was dangerous. But in that moment, he didn't care. He couldn't. Because for the first time in his life, it felt like freedom.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

For Sibylla, it happened too quickly.

Her mouth had twisted in wry mischief at the absurd image of Thessaly being escorted out of the hall in a winestained gown by attendants. The thought almost drew a light and reckless laugh in the tipsy, relaxed haze she was in.

But then Aurelian moved.

She felt the warmth of his palm slide over her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. And what she saw in his dark gaze for that fleeting, tension-filled second made the humor catch in her throat. Even through the softened blur of the drink, the weight of his sudden closeness made her blink and her breath catch in her throat as awareness of him rippled through her again.

And before she could even register what it meant, his lips were on hers.

She froze.

The whiskey blurred the edges of everything as the sudden heat of his mouth stole her breath amidst the taste of spice and whiskey. Her eyes widened, startled, then fluttered half-shut, caught in the strangeness of it, the surreal weight of the moment. Her fingers twitched against his cheeks, fanning back as if to pull away, yet instead they curled tighter, pressing into the line of his jaw as though to steady herself. For several stunned heartbeats she lingered, lost in the impossible haze and heat of it, as if the world had shrunk to the taste of him and the thunder of her pulse.

And then the realization of reality hit her all at once: the recklessness of the act, the audacity, and the way he kissed her like it cost him nothing and everything at once.

And with it came the sobering, frigid crashing wave of overwhelmed and confused teenage panic.

Aurelian was kissing her.

Sibylla broke away abruptly, the cool night air crashing in between them. Her hands tore from his face as if burned, shoving at his chest in blind panic before she stumbled back, scrambling across the sand.

No. No, no, no. What am I doing?

Her breath hitched, uneven, her cheeks blazing hot.

Shiraya, why did he...

The sand shifted under her palms as she pushed herself farther away, desperate to put distance between them, as though space could undo what had just happened.

She stared at him with wide hazel eyes, her hair fluttering wildly under the starlight, her flushed face hot enough to burn, her chest rising and falling as her breath came in uneven bursts. She blinked hard, rapid, desperate, trying to register what had just happened.

"I -- " Her flustered voice tripped over itself, breaking as soon as it left her lips. "You -- I…"

Nothing else came. Only her wide, flushed stare, her breathless disbelief, and the racing truth she couldn't escape.

Aurelian Veruna had kissed her. Her first kiss.

And she let him.

"We had too much to drink," she suddenly burst out, as if explaining the scene to herself would explain the foolishness of the act. Yes. Rational. Logical. It was easier to swallow than admit it was anything else. Doing so would only confuse and unravel her further. For what sort of woman was she that she'd drink her longing for the ache and loss of another but feel upended and flustered from the kiss of the one in front of her?

"It's late." Her words stumbled over each other. "Don't worry about Cassian and Thessaly... I'll talk to him -- " The words collapsed into silence, tension spilling into the space between them.

Go. I have to go. The urge to flee clawed at her, dragging her up to her feet. But the rush of whiskey hit all at once, sending her head spinning and her balance swaying beneath her.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian leaned into her, and for a brief, fragile moment, she leaned too. He felt Sibylla's lips trembling against his, her fingers curling tighter against his jaw. The world seemed to hold its breath, shrinking to the warmth of her mouth, the taste of whiskey between them, and the impossible truth that she hadn't pulled away, not yet.

For him, it was fire and salt air, adrenaline and relief, all colliding in a rush that threatened to drown him. He had kissed her, yes, but more than that, she had let him. For that fleeting instant, he felt weightless, as if her hands holding his face had pulled him out of the deep waters he'd thrashed in his whole life.

Then came the emptiness. Her mouth broke from his, and a rush of cold night air filled the space between them as she shoved against his chest. Aurelian stumbled back, confusion lancing through him like a blade. His heart plummeted as she scrambled away, as though he were a monster she needed distance from.

He froze, staring at her. Her eyes were wide, her breathing panicked, and she shoved herself across the sand to put more space between them. His chest twisted, his face contorting with confusion, hurt, and disbelief.

What have I done? Why is she looking at me like that?

And Shiraya help him, all he could see was Sibylla: her wild hair tossed by the sea breeze, flushed cheeks lit by moonlight, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder. The House Abrantes daughter, the polished courtier, faded from his mind. She was the person who had looked straight through him and never turned away, the one who spoke to him as if he were more than just Veruna blood and a dangerous smile. She was fierce, stubborn, and loyal, more loyal than anyone he had ever known. To him, in that moment, she was everything.

And he had ruined it.

He tried to speak, but no words came. His throat closed, strangling anything he might say. He rose unsteadily to his feet, turning away from her to face the dark sprawl of the beach, unable to bear the sight of her panic.

Rejection wasn't foreign to him. He'd been bold, reckless, even audacious enough to invite slaps, denials, and laughter before. But this, this stung in a way nothing else ever had. Because she had seen him, truly seen him, as no one else ever had. She had breathed life into him, lifting him up. Everyone else had only dragged him down. And still, in the end, he was the same. The monster Thessaly claimed him to be. The mistake his father believed. The Veruna ruin everyone whispered about.

His head dipped, his jaw tightening as he nodded while she stammered about the drink, about it being late. He nodded again, anything to make this moment end, to close off the tearing ache in his chest. If whiskey was the excuse she needed, then so be it.

But inside, he was collapsing. She had told him he wasn't worthless, that he wasn't weak. And yet here they were, her recoiling, him standing alone with the taste of rejection like ash in his mouth. He told himself it proved everything his father had said, everything Thessaly had ever etched into his bones: he would ruin everything he touched. No one would ever accept him as he truly was.

He felt the heat in his eyes before he realized it, tears blurring the horizon. His hand shot up automatically, dragging through his hair, covering his face, willing composure back. A king doesn't break. A king doesn't falter. He had no time for weakness. He couldn't prove them right.

And yet here he was, weak.

When he finally turned back toward her, his face was a mask again, composed and cool. But the mask cracked instantly at the sight of her stumbling, scrambling to flee, nearly losing her balance in the shifting sand. His chest caved all over again. What a weak king he was, to have brought her to this, her of all people. The only one he trusted. The only one who had seen him whole.

Without thinking, he moved. Swift and steady despite the spin of the whiskey, he reached for her. His hands hovered gently, ready to steady her before she fell.

His voice, when it came, was quiet, stripped bare of its usual dangerous smile or razor's edge. "Let me help you back to Cassian," he said, steady though his heart threatened to splinter again. His throat worked once, fighting the weight of it all, before he added with quiet finality, "Then I'll go."

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

Foolish, foolish girl.

Sibylla cursed herself as she struggled on her feet over the sand, the drink only enhancing how her thoughts battered her as wildly as the surf. Her lips still tingled, her body still hummed with the reckless audacious heat of it, and her mind spun out of control.

She felt dazed, guilty, alarmed, every emotion colliding so fast they made her dizzy. Even more confounding was the brief flash of Aurelian’s expression before he turned away and stood. The confusion in his eyes, the hurt buried there, struck her hard. Whiskey laced thoughts ignited a firestorm of misunderstandings and misconceptions all at once.

Shiraya, what have I done?

Her first kiss. Here, on the sand, drunk on whiskey, with Aurelian. Not in some imagined moment of quiet romance like the stories she had devoured. And Shiraya, the way he'd kissed her. And worst of all, in those fleeting moments she'd let him, reacted to it. Like it. And it only served to convict her more.

What if he thought I was using him, clinging to him just to blur the sting Lysander left behind?

What if he thought I was toying with him again?

The thought burned hotter than the drink in her veins because she’d been trying to ignore the increasing awareness of him as a man rather than a political partner. The tension that had grown in the fleeting moments when his provocations struck their mark. Flustered overwhelmed confusion clawed up her throat, choking her, making her want to vanish into the sand.

Her balance faltered again, but before she could fall, Aurelian's hands caught her in his steady gentle grasp. Yet his touch was too warm, too close. Awareness rekindled as his scent wrapped around her all over again, whiskey, salt, lavender, citrus, and it left her reeling.

Shiraya, I must look like a complete fool. Nothing like the women he's kissed before.

Flustered nerves prompted Sibylla to rake her fingers through the thick mass of her wavy hair, desperate for composure, but it slipped right through her hands. She barely registered Aurelian saying he would help her get back to Cassian, the low, quiet tenor of his voice washing over her in a way that made her curse at herself again.

"I… just need to catch my breath," she managed, the words tumbling unevenly. She tried to step forward, failed, and stumbled right back into him. The solid heat of his body against her made her heart skip in thrumming burning awareness anew.

Mortified, she drew away at once.

"Shoes," she squeaked, far too high, latching onto the only thing she could. "I'll need my shoes."

She sounded ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Her face was on fire, her chest too tight, her thoughts scattered. And when she dared glance up at him, catching the faint glint of his gaze in the dark, her heart stuttered painfully at what he must be thinking of her.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

​

Aurelian caught her before she hit the sand, his hands firm yet careful on her arms. The weight of her stumbled body pressed for a second into his chest. It was nothing, just her misstep, a falter brought on by the whiskey and the tide pulling the ground beneath her feet. But for him, for that single fragile second, it was everything.

The heat of her lingered against him, her breath brushing his collarbone, the scent of her hair filling his lungs. His heart clenched painfully at her nearness, the way her presence seemed to fit so naturally there, as if the space had been carved for her all along. He wanted to stay like that, wanted it so fiercely it frightened him.

But then, as quickly as she had fallen into him, she recoiled again. Mortified and embarrassed, she scattered nervous words and squeaked a request for her shoes, as if she hadn't just unraveled him entirely. And that, gutted him.

He stood still, hands useless at his sides, his throat burning. He tried to swallow the ache, but it clung like glass in his chest, jagged and unrelenting. She had stumbled into him, and for a heartbeat he had almost let himself imagine she wanted him there, that she meant what her lips had almost told him back on the sand. But she didn't. Of course she didn't.

Panic flushed her face, her eyes wide with alarm, betraying no hint of longing or wonder. Every stammered word, every nervous twitch of her hands in her hair screamed the truth he couldn't ignore: she hadn't truly wanted the kiss, not soberly. That truth shredded him.

He saw it so plainly now: she was beautiful, untouchable, too bright to ever belong in the shadowed corners he lived in. He had been reckless, selfish, even cruel, to take that moment from her. It had to be her first kiss, he knew it now from her stunned tremble, from the way she had looked at him after, and he had ruined it. Ruined it with his hunger, his brokenness, with the monster Thessaly had always told him he was.

He raked a hand hard through his hair, his jaw tight, every nerve in his body screaming with regret. He couldn't look at her without his chest breaking open again, without that crushing weight reminding him what a fool he had been.

When he finally spoke, it came low and hoarse, stripped of all charm and arrogance. Just a raw, quiet apology.

"I… I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

His gaze drifted to the sand where her shoes lay abandoned, anything to keep from looking directly at the fear and confusion in her eyes. "You're right, we've both had too much to drink." The words felt like poison, but he forced them out, giving her the excuse she clearly needed.

"I'll get your shoes," he added softly, bending down to retrieve them. He brushed sand from the delicate straps with hands that shook more than he wanted to admit. "And I'll help you inside." His voice broke faintly, and he swallowed hard before finishing. "After that, you'll only have to deal with me professionally."

The words nearly tore his throat on the way out. The thought of stripping himself back down to only that, to court games and political masks with her, to the distance he had worked so long to keep but so recklessly destroyed tonight, was unbearable. But it was what she wanted, what she needed.

And so he forced himself to stand, shoes in hand, shoulders squared, though his heart was sinking like stone into the sea beside them. Because the truth was simple and devastating: She was becoming important to him now, and she had made it clear: he could never have her.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

He couldn't even look at her.

Sibylla's breath hitched, her face blanching as the truth struck hard and fast. Aurelian's silhouette shifted against the moonlight, his shoulders tense, hand raking through his dark hair, gaze fixed anywhere but her.

As if the sight of her was unbearable.

Sibylla felt her chest tighten in growing apprehension despite the way he had sent her mind spinning in awareness, confusion, and dizzying warmth.

And then came the words. His quiet, hoarse apology, saying that it was a mistake. That he shouldn't have done it. That they'd both had too much to drink.

A mistake. He thought it was a mistake.

She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but her world tilted when he added the final blow. That she would only have to deal with him professionally.

Her head snapped up, her voice cracking out before she could stop it.

"W-what?!"

The word hung sharp and trembling in the night air, breaking past the haze, past the drink. He couldn't mean it. He couldn't. Not after everything.

But the way Aurelian purposefully straightened after picking up her shoes, how her heels dangled from his hands like a sentence, made her stomach plummet.

Sibylla felt her voice falter, breaking as she murmured hoarsely.

"I… I thought we were…" The words wavered, unfinished, because the ache climbing her throat threatened to choke her.

Friends. Ah, but did friends kiss? Did friends drink thinking of one man then return the kiss of another? Is that why he was bringing up clean walls again between them?

Make things neat and unshakable? Just be allies who bicker and build plans?

The stars blurred above her as her lashes burned hot, her pulse thundering in her ears. Shiraya, was this really happening? Had she just shattered another bond, ruined everything she'd been building with him?

Her hands curled helplessly at her sides, knuckles white, as she forced herself to ask, even though her heart already feared the answer.

"Is that… really what you want?" The words broke out of her before she could stop them.

And then came the silence.

Her heart thundered in her chest, wild and panicked, each beat slamming against her ribs as if trying to break free. She could barely breathe, barely stand under the weight of it.

Please don't say yes. Please.

Her stomach twisted so hard she thought she might be sick. What had she done? One reckless mistake and now she had ruined everything. The thought of him saying yes, that he wanted only professionalism, that he didn't want her friendship anymore, that he didn't want her, clawed up her throat until it hurt to swallow.

Foolish, foolish girl. You've done it again.

Her vision blurred, but she didn't dare blink. She needed to see him. Needed to know. Even as every part of her begged to look away, to run, to bury her face in her hands like a child, she couldn't. Because what if this was the end? What if this was the moment she lost him, too?

She clenched her hands at her sides to keep them from trembling, willing herself not to cry, not here, not in front of him. But inside, everything felt like it was crumbling.

Please don't say yes.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian's hand froze around the straps of her shoes when the word cracked out of her.

"W-what?!"

Her trembling voice cut through the noise, silencing the thunder in his head. He held his breath, unable to look at her. His gaze fixed on the sand, the surf, the endless black horizon... anywhere but her. He knew if he truly met her eyes, he might not be able to stand.

Then she spoke again. Soft. Breaking.

"I… I thought we were…"

The sound of it crushed him. That unfinished word, the fragile hope in it, tore him open. Friends, allies, perhaps something more... he didn't know, couldn't say. But the raw crack in her voice told him he had wounded her deeply.

His grip tightened on her shoes, the straps digging into his palm. His chest burned. He still couldn't look, not until her next words, halting and hoarse. They carried a raw fear he recognized, a fear that mirrored his own.

"Is that… really what you want?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. The wind pressed heavy against them, pulling strands of her hair across her flushed cheeks, stirring her gown around her legs. Finally, slowly, Aurelian forced his gaze up. When his eyes met hers, the sight nearly shattered him.

Her hazel eyes, bright and burning, brimmed with something she fought desperately to hold back. Moonlight painted her in silver and fire, and then he understood. He'd seen that look before, not on her, but on his own face. It was heartbreak.

Shiraya. He had broken her.

His mask slipped away. Confusion, pain, and longing bared themselves in his expression as he stared at her, silent, the wind and sea raging around them. For a long moment, he said nothing. He simply drank her in, memorizing her wild hair, her trembling lips, her eyes silently pleading with him.

Finally, his voice came, rough, emphatic, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"No. Of course I don't want that."

The words hit the air like thunder. He let their weight settle between them, searching her face for any flicker of reaction. His heart hammered, his chest rising and falling hard, but he couldn't stop now.

"I don't know how to do this," he said, his voice fraying. "This." He gestured vaguely, helplessly, at the sea, the stars, at them both. "Tonight was supposed to be one of the most important nights of my life. I should be thinking about the throne, about my legacy, about the bloody future of Naboo." His jaw clenched, his throat tightening. "But all I can see is you."

The truth tumbled out, raw and ragged.

"I tried to keep it professional, Shiraya knows I tried, for your sake. You deserve better than this." His hand pressed against his chest, as if to cage the words. "You recoiled from me like a monster. Maybe I am. But Shiraya help me, I can't stop. You walk into a room, and you're all I see. Thessaly comes crashing back into my life, and all I can think about is how to get you away, how to keep you safe."

His voice dropped, thick with anguish. "You don't understand. You're the one person who's seen me, Aurelian. Not the Veruna, not the heir, not the king. Just me. And I am terrified. I will ruin it all. You deserve more than this chaos, more than me."

The shoes in his hand slipped to the sand with a dull thud. He stepped closer, helpless to stop himself, his dark eyes locked on hers with a desperate intensity.

"I don't want distance, or masks, or professionalism. I want..." His voice cracked, and he broke off, dragging a trembling hand through his hair. "I don't even have the words. I just know that every second I'm near you, I'm drowning, and every second I'm away from you, I'm starving."

His throat worked once, hard. Then, more quietly, almost pleading:

"Tell me what to do, Sibylla. Because if I keep going like this, I'm only going to ruin everything between us. And I couldn't bear that."

The wind howled around them, waves crashing at the shore like war drums, as if the whole night itself was holding its breath on her answer.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

Sibylla felt a wave of relief hit her when Aurelian said no, that he didn't want there to be only professionalism between them. Her shoulders sagged, a shaky breath spilling out that she hadn't even realized she was holding. Her lower lip trembling as she swallowed hard, grateful that it hadn't come to that. She couldn't handle going back to how it was before. While she had Cassian, it wasn't the same. Being with Aurelian wasn't the same. It was different, and those periods of being able to just be herself with him had been fragile moments of peace that she couldn't find elsewhere.

Cassian didn't understand the pressure she was in as much as Aurelian did, how it felt to be constantly in the spotlight. Constantly ruled by the expectation of one's House. Of family. Of duty and responsibility. Aurelian, having endured his own terrible, twisted upbringing, understood it, and in turn, faced it the only way he knew how. No different than she.

But then came everything else.

Aurelian's words poured out in a raw, desperate chain, tearing him open in ways she had never thought him capable of. She had seen him smug, arrogant, even cruel. Tormented and haunted by Thessaly. But never like this. Never so unguarded. Never so raw, pleading.

It rattled her. It scared her. Because this was not something she could dismiss, not something she or he could blame on pheromones again. This was real. Too real. Too much.

"I…" The sound escaped without her meaning it to, trembling and breathless as he continued.

And then it struck her. Every word he spoke echoed the ones she had once confessed to Lysander. The same desperation. The same unraveling honesty. The same pain that had left her broken when he walked away. And now here was Aurelian, saying those same things, looking at her with that same need. And Shiraya, she could not breathe.

Sibylla felt her chest squeeze tightly as memories tangled together. Lysander, his laughter, and the promises they had shared, the easy way he pulled her out of her shell, making her feel normal. And Aurelian, with his maddening smirk, their clashes, the quiet moments that had somehow built into trust. And now to the way he looked at her, the way he had kissed her with such desperation, as if he couldn't hold back another second.

Tears that had prickled her eyes welled further before she could stop them.

"Aurelian, I… wait, I just… I need to think." Her voice cracked, hoarse and small, feeling so utterly overwhelmed.

"I don't know what to say. I don't even know what I'm feeling." The words tumbled out, lips trembling, messy and uneven, loosened by the drink and the clash of emotions flooding her.

She began to shake her head from side to side, the breeze sending those loose waves of mahogany up to dance around her bare shoulders and back.

"You're not a monster. I am. I thought you could not even look at me after I…" Her throat closed, heat rushing to her cheeks as the truth slipped clumsily and bare. Her heart pounded in her chest, making her feel dizzy, Lysander's ghost colliding with Aurelian's confession until she felt split apart.

"I'm still at a loss for someone else, and yet I…" Her voice cracked, but the words spilled anyway in a reckless, raw abandon, "And yet I kissed you back...wanted to."

Guilt surged through her, rising like a tide she couldn't fight. What kind of woman did that make her? Surely a hypocrite. Surely weak. Surely faithless.

"What does that make me?" she whispered at last, lifting her tear filled eyes to him, her vision blurring as they began to spill over. "What sort of fickle woman am I that -- "

The guilt tore at her chest, guilt for feeling, guilt for wanting, guilt for making him feel like this, and then being so blind and stupid because of it. She looked up at him then, hazel eyes swimming, and the sight of his pained expression only undid her further. Her lower lip trembled, and her knees buckled, and she nearly sank into the sand where she stood.

Everything was just so overwhelming again. Lysander. Wielu. The declaration of War. The campaign. Aurelian. How he'd made her feel. The confusion and incessant need to bury her feelings in work, using it to drive her forward day in and day out, all to support Aurelian and help him ascend to the throne. The dinner. Thessaly. And all that would come after. Trying to get Aurelian to see himself as she did. The man he was, the man he'd turned into to, the man that...

"It's too much, it's all too much," she whispered, her voice breaking apart as she dragged both hands over her face. Feeling bare, vulnerable. Naked in her doubts and uncertainties, and what she even felt anymore. What was right. What was wrong. What was she supposed to do?

"Aurelian… I don't know," she murmured in an aching, hoarse voice as she admitted her overwhelmed confusion through her tears, her voice shaking with all the contradictions tearing her apart.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to tell you. I just don't want to lose you too."

The confession shattered what little control she had left, and Sibylla bowed her head, starting to cry in earnest now, shoulders trembling, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she stood broken in the moonlight.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian stood rooted as her words hung in the night air. She wanted it? The kiss had been something she desired? His mind reeled, oscillating between disbelief and a desperate, painful hope. She had pulled away, hadn't she? She had looked at him as if he were something vile. Yet here she was, tearful and trembling, confessing she wanted it, that she hadn't seen a monster, that she had kissed him back.

The sand shifted under his boots as his breaths came in ragged gasps. Confusion battled with longing, hope with a corrosive self-loathing. All that remained was the gnawing truth: he had done this to her. He had shattered her peace, reopened old wounds that were never his to touch. Why did he always lose control around her? Why couldn't he simply cherish the fragile gift of her friendship? He could face down any rival, wield any weapon with skill, but with Sibylla, he was nothing but unravelled thread, scattered ash.

He clenched his fists, then released them. He hated himself for this, for the pain he caused her, for making her doubt herself, for seeing her weep. Each tear that fell felt like a blade carving itself into his skin. Slowly, deliberately, he moved towards her, each step measured, as if approaching something impossibly fragile. He reached her, her shoulders shaking, her hair obscuring her face. Hesitating only a moment, he reached out and gently took her hands as they tried to hide her tears. His own fingers were warm and steady as he coaxed her hands away from her face.

"Sibylla," his voice was a low, rough rumble, tight with a desperate restraint. "Listen to me." Her hazel eyes, swimming with unshed tears, lifted to his, and the sight nearly undid him again. He held her hands tighter, a lifeline for them both. "You won't lose me," he said, his voice fierce and absolute, each word honed by the storm raging within him. "Do you hear me? You have me. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

His throat ached, but he pressed on, leaning closer until their foreheads almost touched. His voice dropped to an urgent, aching whisper. "You could hate me. You could curse my name. You could strike me down before every noble in the galaxy, and I still wouldn't leave. You will always have me." The vow escaped him, like blood from a wound, irreversible and undeniable. His thumbs brushed softly over her knuckles, soothing the tremor in her fingers. Moonlight caught the dark strands of his hair, highlighting the raw lines of devotion and torment etched onto his face.

He longed to say more, to tell her she wasn't fickle or weak, that all the guilt she felt was his to bear, not hers. But the words lodged in his chest, too raw, too dangerous to speak. Instead, he simply held her hands as if they were the only things anchoring him, as if letting go would cause her to vanish into the night. The waves crashed against the shore, the wind tugged at their clothes, but Aurelian saw only her, felt only the trembling of her hands in his. "You won't lose me," he whispered again, softer now, with a desperate plea. "Not now. Not ever." And for the first time in his life, Aurelian Veruna meant it with a terrifying, unshakeable certainty.

Sibylla Abrantes​