WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

THE ONE WHERE SHE UNDAGGERED HIM

1789 - New Orleans

The night Rhea Monroe undaggered Kol Mikaelson, the city bled smoke and fire.

Revolution stirred in the streets. The scent of molasses and blood clung to the Mississippi breeze, drifting past half-sunk barges and candlelit alleyways where witches whispered omens beneath their breath. Above it all, New Orleans pulsed like a living thing-beautiful, feral, half-drunk on freedom and rot.

And in one of its forgotten mausoleums, something ancient waited to rise.

She had been walking for hours. Through the Garden District's ghost-still avenues. Past iron gates and gas lamps. Past the illusion of quiet Klaus had so painstakingly constructed. But every step brought her closer to what she couldn't ignore.

Kol.

Fifty years entombed. Daggered. Silenced.

Rhea had begged once, long ago. In Klaus's study, candlelight flickering over her clenched fists.

"He wasn't wrong," she'd said then. "Just reckless. Like you."

Klaus had only looked up, his gaze cold and regal.

"I'm allowed," he said.

Rhea had smiled at that-sharp and joyless. "So was he."

But Klaus had already turned away, the conversation dismissed like a servant at court.

Now, as her boots clicked over old chapel steps slick with evening dew, that conversation haunted her in pieces.

He's dangerous.
He's unpredictable.
He's not ready.

Neither was she.

Not to leave him buried.

-

The chapel doors creaked open just as she reached for them.

Ares Monroe stood in the threshold, arms folded, expression grim beneath the gold-stained glow of candlelight. He looked older than he ever allowed himself to feel-still, carved from stone, his jaw set in frustration and something dangerously close to fear.

"You're really going to do this," he said quietly.

Rhea stepped past him, brushing a cobweb from her shoulder. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not." Ares closed the door behind her. "I'm terrified."

She turned to face him, hair catching firelight like silk spun from flame. "You were terrified when I lit my first binding circle. When I kissed him in front of Klaus. When I followed him into Europe during the plague and brought him back covered in blood and poetry. You've been terrified a long time, Ares. It's never stopped me before."

He grabbed her arm gently, but firmly. "This is different. Klaus gave a command. One you're about to spit on."

Rhea didn't flinch.

"I've kept my mouth shut for half a century. While Kol rotted under a glassy-eyed spell of peace no one ever earned. While Klaus played king of corpses and called it love." She yanked her arm free. "You want to know what's different? I am. I'm done waiting."

"Rhea-"

"No." Her voice was iron now. "Kol Mikaelson is not a mistake to be locked away. He is not a ghost in a box. He is mine."

Ares sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair.

"You know what he is when he wakes up."

She stepped past him, her eyes distant.