Chapter 183 — “If I Were Yours”

  Selene had prepared the room personally.

  Far from the barracks.

  Far from heavy patrol routes.

  Quiet.

  Private.

  A “consideration,” she had said with a straight face.

  For Ivaline and her wife.

  A quiet gesture of approval for the daughter she had not yet officially claimed.

  Selvara slipped through the corridor like spilled ink.

  No sound.

  No scent trail.

  No killing intent.

  Her presence folded into darkness itself.

  A wooden support beam above the corridor ceiling creaked faintly—

  She was already there.

  Watching.

  Timing.

  An assassin versus a sleeping mage?

  Easy.

  She phased into the chamber through the seam of shadow beneath the door.

  Moonlight spilled through the balcony window.

  Soft.

  Silver.

  Romantic.

  The bed held one figure beneath thick blankets.

  Long sblonde hair spilled across the pillow.

  Seraphine.

  Still.

  Breathing slow.

  Measured.

  Selvara tilted her head.

  Something…

  Off.

  The breathing pattern was steady.

  Too steady.

  She stepped closer.

  Slow.

  Measured.

  Raised her chakram.

  The shape beneath the blanket rose and fell—

  But too evenly.

  Too controlled.

  Too shaped.

  Mechanical.

  Artificial.

  Her pupils narrowed.

  The air shifted.

  BOOM.

  The bed exploded outward in a violent cyclone of compressed wind.

  Feathers erupted into a white storm.

  Selvara vanished upward—

  Her tail coiled around a ceiling beam as debris shredded across the room.

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  The mattress was nothing but fragments.

  And standing across the room—

  Barefoot.

  Hair loose.

  Eyes razor sharp.

  Seraphine.

  Faint wings of wind shimmered behind her back.

  “Oh?” Selvara smiled lazily from above.

  “Did I interrupt your sleep?”

  Seraphine did not smile.

  “I never trusted you.”

  “Ah. That’s cold.”

  “What is your purpose?”

  “If I said I wanted to spend the night with you?”

  “Get lost.”

  Selvara dropped.

  The smile stayed.

  The playfulness did not.

  She aimed for the throat.

  Fast.

  Precise.

  Fatal.

  Seraphine pivoted.

  Wind burst at her back, accelerating her turn.

  Staff met steel.

  The chakram scraped against reinforced wind shielding.

  Sparks spat.

  Selvara’s eyes widened slightly.

  Oh?

  Seraphine didn’t retreat.

  She deflected low, spun her staff, and released a point-blank wind blast.

  The air detonated between them.

  Selvara slid backward across the floor—

  Laughing.

  “You fight like a soldier.”

  “I am one. Since before I married one.”

  Her stance tightened.

  Low.

  Efficient.

  Disciplined.

  Years ago, during the frontier goblin subjugation, she had nearly died with empty mana and trembling hands.

  Now?

  Her mana was full.

  Her control absolute.

  And she’s stronger than in the past.

  Seraphine lunged first.

  Not a mage casting from safety.

  Not a fragile artillery unit.

  She closed the distance deliberately.

  Wing magic compressed around her calves — short bursts of propulsion.

  Every step clean.

  Selvara blocked.

  Countered.

  Hooked.

  Seraphine rolled, sent a slicing wind arc horizontally.

  Selvara ducked by inches.

  Now she was grinning.

  “Interesting…”

  Clash after clash.

  Steel sang.

  Wind screamed.

  But slowly—

  Subtly—

  Seraphine’s breathing tightened.

  Micro-delays between movements.

  Tiny hesitations.

  Selvara noticed instantly.

  Ah.

  There it is.

  The stamina gap.

  Selvara pressed harder.

  Sharper.

  More predatory.

  Less playful.

  “You’re innovating too much,” she laughed while striking. “That flight magic of yours. Because of you, the Margrave survived. If other mages learn that?”

  “I have no intention of teaching it.”

  “The Beast General doesn’t take risks.”

  That confirmed it.

  Seraphine’s eyes sharpened.

  So she was Beast Army.

  Selvara feinted high—

  Swept low—

  Two chakrams in hand—

  A third swung unpredictably from her tail.

  Seraphine blocked one.

  Deflected the second—

  The tail whipped.

  She barely rolled clear.

  And then—

  A chakram curved downward from above.

  Thud!

  She leapt aside—

  Balance broken.

  The blade arced toward her throat—

  Too late—

  CLANG.

  A sword intercepted.

  The air dropped ten degrees.

  “Ivaline,” Selvara hummed.

  Ivaline’s eyes were not warm.

  Behind her—

  Vaelis.

  The couple bracelet had pulsed mid-battle.

  Seraphine’s mana fluctuations transmitted directly to Ivaline.

  She had sprinted.

  Vaelis followed.

  Selvara’s smile stiffened.

  Two was manageable.

  Three?

  Troublesome.

  She pivoted toward the balcony—

  Leapt—

  THUD.

  “UGYA!?”

  She crashed into invisible resistance.

  Glass.

  No—

  Not glass.

  Solidified illusion.

  The walls rippled.

  Doorway dissolved.

  Geometry shifted.

  Light bent unnaturally.

  Lyra stepped from the distortion, grimoire glowing faintly.

  Illusion magic sealed the perimeter completely.

  Selvara turned slowly.

  Four directions.

  Four threats.

  “Oh,” she said brightly.

  “I’m in danger ?”

  Still smiling.

  Still amused.

  Absolutely cornered.

  Selvara’s golden eyes sweep the perimeter once.

  Distance.

  Angles.

  Timing.

  She could break left.

  Disarm Lyra first — weakest footing.

  Vault ceiling beam.

  Crash through roof panel.

  Two injuries sustained minimum.

  High noise.

  Mission failure confirmed.

  Possible pursuit.

  Probability of survival: acceptable.

  Probability of achieving objective: zero.

  Her gaze settles on Ivaline.

  Calm.

  No killing intent.

  Only resolve.

  Interesting.

  She rolled one chakram over her finger.

  Another in her tail.

  One steady in hand.

  “Guess… I have two choices.”

  Her tone sang.

  “Either surrender peacefully ?”

  Her eyes locked onto Seraphine.

  “… or die fulfilling my order.”

  That last line lost its melody.

  Cold.

  Direct.

  Ivaline stepped forward.

  Shielding her wife without hesitation.

  “You will not harm Seraphine.”

  “… Ah.”

  Selvara’s gaze softened.

  Just slightly.

  The half-elf girl.

  Shielding a full elf.

  One of the race that had once treated her kind as inferior.

  Contradiction.

  And yet—

  No hesitation.

  “Little Ivaline,” Selvara murmured.

  “Just a what-if…”

  Her voice lowered.

  “If I were to stay… as something under you… would you protect me as fiercely?”

  The room went still.

  That wasn’t mockery.

  That was something else.

  “An ex-slave,” she continued quietly. “Already sullied. No purity. A killer who takes lives on order.”

  Her voice thinned at the edges.

  Ivaline answered without delay.

  “I don’t care about the past.”

  Steady.

  Clear.

  “But whatever is mine, I will protect.”

  She did not blush.

  Did not waver.

  “Seraphine. Lyra. Vaelis. I will protect them all.”

  Seraphine’s eyes widened.

  Lyra jolted — then grinned in delight.

  Vaelis’ usually flat expression softened by a fraction.

  Ivaline meant protection as recognition.

  Not romance.

  But the others?

  They had already decided their own interpretations.

  Selvara swallowed.

  “… And me?”

  There it was.

  Hope.

  Barely restrained.

  “If you prove your worth,” Ivaline said calmly, “and I recognize it… I’ll protect you as well.”

  No mockery.

  No pity.

  Just weight.

  Authority.

  Selvara exhaled slowly.

  “… That’s cheating.”

  Her chakram slipped from her fingers.

  Clang.

  Another dropped from her tail.

  Hands rose.

  Tail lowered.

  A gesture not of defeat.

  But pause.

  “Alright.”

  She smiled again.

  But softer.

  “I yield.”

  Better to survive.

  Better to see what this strange girl would become.

  Because for the first time—

  Freedom didn’t feel like a cage.

  It felt like a challenge.