Dakota pulled Celine through a maze of corridors, the sound of courtiers waning into a mushy murmur as they veered into an alcove. Finally, they were alone.

"Here," he said, his voice hushed in the splendor of the Palace's secret folds.

Celine nodded, her eyes sparkling with her appreciation of the refuge.

"Oh, Henri—I just couldn't bear the salon today," Celine said.

They sat on a bench of cool stone against the warmth of their intertwined fingers. Silence cocooned them, that precious commodity in the relentless tide of royal imperatives. Dakota's eyes didn't move from Celine, tracing the outlines of her face smoothed over by the bad light. And then it happened—a faint glitter in her hands and then a rich green orb. His eyes focused down to her hands where the orb appeared to gyrate and pulse.

"Your hands," he started, tone edged with fascination.

Celine leaned back, the light fading under his gaze. Yet Dakota's hand caught her in mid-air motion. "Beautiful," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Celine's eyes never left his. Her powers had always been her silent cross to bear.

"Show me," he whispered, his hand riding hers, coaxing the light back.

"Tell me," Dakota pressed, low, his voice a murmur that played along the edge of the shadows embracing them. "What is this light?"

"It's nothing," she said first, an instinctive response refined in her over years of practiced discretion.

Dakota leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath against her cheek. "It's not nothing. It's part of you."

She drew a deep breath, and coiled in her gut, the decision sprang like a spring. Trust him. The words of her mother, a whisper from so long past, shoved her resolve.

"Can you keep a secret?" Her voice quavered under the weight of what she was to confess; the attempt at lightness fell thin.

"Always," he vowed, his hand finding hers once more, an anchor in the storm of her fears.

"My mother," Celine began, her words measured. "Is a woman of the arcane—a witch." The last word hangs in the air, heavy with implications. "She was the secret lover of my father, the Duke. I am a bastard child," she looked down. "My father was forced to banish her to the Ashen woods."

Dakota's eyes neither wavered nor judged. A spark in them brightened rather, as a sense of relations would be understood. He nodded to continue.

"She taught me things—things most can't fathom. This light," she waved at her now dim hands, "it's the least of what I can do."

"Show me more," Dakota said, the words not quite an order, a request laced with awe. "Please."

Celine's voice was a hushed torrent, spilling secrets she had cuddled close to her heart. "They cannot know," she whispered, the glow from her hands simmering. "The danger." She trailed off as if the weight of those words were too much for the air to carry. "Each day," she went on, her throat tight around the confession, "I cloak it in shadow, this ability. Should they perceive, the pyres of old will burn once more."

"Not on my watch," Dakota said.

She searched his eyes for the certainty that had eluded her for far too long. His hand, still clasping hers, was firm and unwavering.

"Promise me you will protect me," she whispered.

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"Always," he replied forthwith; his other hand rose and framed her face, his touch speaking of ironclad resolve. "You're not alone in this."

"I have something to admit myself," said Dakota.

She viewed him with a glint of curiosity in her eye. "I have known you hide something from me. Something you are bound by duty to protect, my love," Celine said.

Dakota continued. "This is hard to say, but my true name is not Henri, my real name…. My tribal name is—Dakota."

She sighed.

"Please understand, I was forced into this life. They banished me—stole me from my tribe."

She looked right into his eyes and said, "I knew all along that you came from some far-off land, Dakota. And neither shame nor be ashamed about it. My love yearns for the real you."

"Outcasts," he said, the word slicing through the silence. "Both of us."

Her gaze snagged his, an echo of determination. "Yes. But together, we are more."

"More," he repeated, stopping in front of her. His boots scuffed against the floor, jarring against the hush that had fallen between them.

"Tell me," she pushed on, soft but relentless. "About your world. Before this."

Dakota's chest rose and fell, with each breath a mile and a memory between him and his past. "Banished," he spat, the word poison in his mouth. "Too brave for my tribe. Too reckless."

"Reckless?" She furrowed her brow.

"Seeking truths," Dakota clarified, hands balling into fists. "Truths they feared would unravel us." He looked away, his jaw tight. "So I left. Or rather, I was made to go."

"Alone," she whispered, her eyes shining with sudden comprehension.

"Until the British army took me in. Until I found another kind of brotherhood among the redcoats."

"Strength in numbers?"

"Strength in purpose." He leaned forward and snagged her gaze again. "Just as we find strength now. In each other."

"Your tribe," Celine began, her tone tentative. "Do you miss it?

"Sometimes," he said, the truth a shard of ice. "But I have gained so much more. I have found a cause. A companion. I have found you." He fell silent a moment. "Perhaps one day I shall take you to my home, the land of endless forests and mountains."

"Companion," she echoed, the corner of her lips tilting upwards. "I would dearly love to see your home."

"Good," he said, the smallest of smiles breaking through. "Because you're stuck with me."

"Stuck with you," she laughed-the bright, defiant sound bucking against the weight of their secrets. "I can think of worse fates."

"Me too." Dakota's smile clung on, stubborn as the bond taking shape between them-tempered not from silk and finery, but iron and fire. "Together, we're unstoppable."

And then their lips crashed together with fierce, relentless kisses, like waves on rocks and cliffs. It tasted of a kiss in the heat of battle, a touch that seared into the core of their soul.

Together, they pressed toward the noise of the palace. They strolled through the gardens of the palace, fingers intertwined.

"Ready?" he asked low.

"More than ever," she returned, her gaze fierce.

Before them, the palace loomed. Together they crossed the threshold; the cool air of the great hall washed over them like the first breath of winter.

"Here we go," Celine muttered.

"Into the lion's den," Dakota said.

Their passage through caused heads to twist, both nobles and courtiers alike, but whispers followed.

"Let them stare," Dakota said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"Let them," she echoed, the corner of her mouth curving up in a fearless smile.

She walked with him in a resolute stride-they said something with every action, every movement showing the world what was theirs. Eyes forward, they cut through the sea of nobility, immovable as the tide.

"Whatever comes," she whispered above the noise.

"We face it together," Dakota said.

"Remember, we are two halves of the same destiny," Celine's voice now held the edge of a sword, sharp and sure.

He nodded. He could feel it in his bones, the truth of it.