WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

3:09

| THE AFTERMATH:
CHAPTER NINE |

Smoke curled up into the indigo sky, billowing in lazy spirals from the ruins of what had once been their latest attempt at domestic bliss. The scent of burnt wood, scorched silk, and singed parchment hung thick in the air.

"Well," Rhea exhaled, pushing a soot-streaked curl from her cheek as she turned to face the blaze behind them. "That was... eventful."

"Eventful?" Kol repeated, incredulous, as he stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You nearly incinerated us, darling. Incinerated. That wasn't eventful—that was arson with flair."

Rhea smirked, entirely unapologetic. "You're being dramatic. We weren't even inside when the roof collapsed."

"Because I dragged you out by your corset ribbons!" he snapped, though there was more exasperated amusement than fury in his voice. "Do you know how long it takes to get ash out of leather boots?"

"Oh, lighten up." She rolled her eyes with theatrical flair, brushing soot from her skirts that were already beyond saving. "It's not my fault we decided to tamper with a binding spell written in a dialect neither of us fully understands."

"We?" Kol arched a brow, walking a slow circle around her as though circling prey. "That wasn't we, Rhea. That was you, enthusiastically chanting words you couldn't pronounce while I was still trying to decipher the damned sigils."

She gave him a look—one of those looks that held a mischievous glint, a warning, and a dare all in one. "So now it's my fault you couldn't keep up?"

Kol let out a low laugh despite himself, his irritation dissolving like fog under sunlight. She always managed this—pulling the tension from his shoulders with nothing but a raised brow and a reckless smile. She was chaos in velvet, and he was hopelessly enchanted.

"Oh, so that's how it is?" he asked, voice honeyed with sarcasm. He stepped toward her, slow and dangerous, like a predator enjoying the chase. "It's all my fault, is it?"

"Well, yes. I'd say so." Rhea took a step back with a mock-innocent shrug. "Entirely. Categorically. Unquestionably. Your. Fault."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You're going to regret those words, Rhea Monroe."

"Only if you can catch me, Kol Mikaelson," she grinned.

And then she was gone.

She turned on her heel and bolted into the woods with a burst of laughter that echoed through the trees—wild, bright, free. The night air was cool against her flushed skin, scented with pine and river mist, and the ground was soft beneath her boots. Moonlight dappled the forest floor in silver patterns, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two souls in the world.

They always chose places like this. Remote. Quiet. Untouched. A temporary sanctuary far from court politics and ancestral obligations.

Their bond had deepened since they left the Mikaelsons. Ares had stayed behind—his loyalty to the family stronger, or perhaps his tolerance for Kol's nonsense lower. Either way, Kol and Rhea had chosen differently. Chosen each other.

Rhea ducked beneath a low branch and slowed, breath catching—not from exertion, but anticipation.

He would catch her.

He always did.

She spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the moonlit woods. "Kol?" she called softly. "Did you give up already?"

No answer.

Just the chirr of crickets and the distant crackle of fire from their ruined home.

Then—