My Seven Wives Are Beautiful Saintesses - Chapter 207

Chapter 207: Chapter 207: The Silence Before Dominion
The door closed behind Vahn with a sound that was barely audible, yet it felt impossibly loud in the quiet of Celestine’s chamber.

The room was nothing like the public halls of her residence.

There were no grand banners. No imperial sigils carved into every surface. No oppressive reminder of hierarchy or power. Instead, the space was intimate, warm, and restrained. Soft light flowed from crystal lamps embedded in the walls, casting gentle reflections across pale stone and polished wood. Tall windows revealed the Core World’s endless cityscape below, layers of light drifting like constellations turned inside out.

Celestine stood near the window, her back to him.

She had removed her formal outer robes. What remained was simple, elegant, and unmistakably personal. White silk draped over her slender frame, following the lines of her body without clinging, the fabric catching the light like moonlit snow. Her long white hair flowed freely down her back, unbound, reaching almost to her waist.

She did not turn.

“I told you to rest,” she said calmly.

Vahn took a step forward, then stopped.

“You also told me to follow you into the heart of the Empire,” he replied. “I do not believe rest was ever truly an option.”

Silence stretched between them.

The city lights flickered beyond the window, distant and unreal.

Celestine exhaled slowly, then turned to face him.

Her expression was controlled, composed, but her eyes were sharp with something unresolved.

“You are reckless,” she said. “You walked into imperial succession politics as if it were a battlefield you could simply dominate.”

“I walked into it knowing I would not survive by standing outside,” Vahn replied.

Her gaze narrowed. “And you chose me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Do not insult me with theatrics this time.”

Vahn met her eyes steadily.

“Because you do not crave the throne,” he said. “You believe it is a responsibility, not a prize. And because you would rather dismantle a broken system than rule it unchanged.”

Celestine’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“That is not enough,” she said. “You risk everything. Your territory. Your people. Yourself. For what? Ideology?”

Vahn took another step closer.

“For you,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she masked it.

“You said that already,” she replied coolly. “And I told you I did not believe you.”

“I know.”

He closed the remaining distance between them, stopping just within her personal space, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence, the quiet gravity that seemed to bend the room toward him.

“You do not believe words,” he continued. “You believe patterns. Actions. Consequences.”

Her eyes flicked to his lips, then back to his gaze.

“And yet you stand here,” she said. “Uninvited.”

“I stand where I was always meant to,” Vahn replied.

She laughed softly, without humor.

“You are infuriating.”

“Yes.”

“And dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that makes you desirable?”

Vahn did not answer immediately.

Instead, he reached out slowly, deliberately, giving her every opportunity to stop him.

She did not.

His fingers brushed a loose strand of her white hair, cool and impossibly soft, sliding it behind her ear. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but the tension it created was immediate and electric.

Celestine’s breath faltered.

“You should not touch me,” she said, though her voice lacked force.

“And yet you are not telling me to stop.”

Her jaw tightened.

“You mistake restraint for consent.”

“No,” Vahn said softly. “I recognize the difference.”

His hand lingered near her cheek, not touching, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin.

“You cannot see my path,” he continued. “Your fate sight fails around me. That frightens you.”

Her eyes darkened.

“Yes,” she admitted. “It does.”

“Good,” he said. “Because it means what stands before you is not bound by the same chains.”

Something shifted then.

Not dramatically.

Not explosively.

But irrevocably.

Celestine stepped forward.

Her hand rose, fingers gripping the front of his robe, not pushing him away, but anchoring herself.

“You are not entitled to me,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“You do not own me.”

“I would never try.”

“And if I let this happen,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “it changes everything.”

Vahn leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

“I am counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, they remained like that, breath mingling, the world beyond the room fading into insignificance.

Then Celestine closed the distance herself.

Her lips met his.

The kiss was not gentle.

It was sharp, searching, almost angry, as if she were testing him, challenging him to pull away. Vahn responded immediately, his hand sliding to her waist, drawing her closer without force, without hesitation.

The contact sent a shiver through her.

Her fingers tightened in his robe, nails digging in slightly.

She broke the kiss only to inhale sharply, her composure visibly cracking.

“This is a mistake,” she murmured.

“Then stop me,” Vahn replied.

She kissed him again.

This time deeper.

Slower.

Her lips softened against his, the initial tension melting into something warmer, heavier. The room seemed to shrink around them, the soft light reflecting off white silk and dark fabric, off pale skin and shadow.

Vahn’s hand moved along her back, feeling the curve of her spine beneath the thin fabric, the subtle tremor that ran through her body at his touch. He kissed her with a patience that belied the intensity beneath, as if savoring each second, each breath she gave him.

Celestine’s resolve unraveled piece by piece.

She pressed herself against him, not in surrender, but in choice, her hands sliding upward to rest against his shoulders, then around his neck. Her white hair spilled forward, brushing his face, enveloping him in her presence.

She pulled back slightly, her lips parted, eyes searching his.

“If you cross this line,” she said, voice unsteady, “you do not walk away unchanged.”

Vahn’s gaze was unwavering.

“I have not walked away unchanged since the day I met you.”

That was when she stopped resisting.

Her hands moved with purpose now, unfastening his robe, fingers brushing skin beneath, her touch deliberate, curious, no longer defensive. Vahn responded in kind, guiding her gently backward until the edge of the bed pressed against her knees.

She did not sit immediately.

Instead, she reached up, gripping his collar, and whispered, “Do not think this makes you my equal.”

Vahn smiled faintly.

“I would never insult you like that.”

She pushed him onto the bed.

The motion surprised him, but he allowed it, watching her as she stood above him, luminous in the soft light, her expression conflicted yet resolute. Slowly, she climbed onto the bed, straddling him, her white hair cascading around them like a curtain.

The air between them grew heavy.

Vahn’s hands rested at her hips, feeling her warmth through the thin silk, his thumbs tracing slow, grounding circles.

Celestine closed her eyes briefly.

Then she leaned down and kissed him again, deeper than before, her body pressing into his, the barrier of fabric no longer enough to dull the sensation. The world outside the chamber ceased to exist entirely.

What followed was not hurried.

Nor was it restrained.

It was a gradual surrender, a mutual unraveling, where words became unnecessary and intent was communicated through touch, breath, and closeness. The night stretched on, filled with whispered exchanges, with shared heat, with the undeniable truth of two forces colliding not as enemies, but as equals in desire.

And when at last Celestine lay against him, white hair spread across his chest, her breathing slow and uneven, Vahn held her without speaking, fingers threaded gently through her hair.

Outside, the Core World continued to turn.

Inside that chamber, something far more dangerous than conquest had occurred.

Connection.

And the Empire, whether it knew it yet or not, had just gained a bond that no throne could easily sever.

—

The morning after Vahn’s arrival at the Core World did not begin with ceremony.

It began with whispers.

They moved faster than official announcements, threading through imperial salons, private communication arrays, and sealed lineage channels. By the time the artificial dawn brightened the upper layers of the capital, nearly every heir with a claim to the Astralis throne had heard some version of the same rumor.

A lord from a border sector had entered the imperial stage under Celestine’s banner.

And worse, he had not knelt.

Inside the eastern wing of the Imperial Succession Hall, Prince Dareth lounged across a crescent couch, one leg draped over the armrest, a crystal goblet rotating lazily in his fingers. He laughed openly as his attendants relayed the report.

“A frontier lord?” he scoffed. “From Astralis Border Seven?”

An aide nodded cautiously. “Yes, Your Highness. Formerly a mercenary commander. Recently elevated.”

Dareth waved a dismissive hand. “Celestine collects oddities. Philosophers. Executors. Now mercenaries, it seems.”

A few courtiers chuckled softly.

“He seized a continent,” another attendant added carefully. “And dismantled Azure Dragon Sect influence.”

Dareth snorted. “Sect politics. Petty wars. Give a dog enough teeth and it will bite. That does not make it a dragon.”