Everfell's corridors felt different that night—too still, too listening.Every step Seraphina took left a whisper in the marble, as if the house itself were holding its breath.
She reached her chamber before dawn. The first thing she saw was the mirror.Her reflection looked unchanged, but when she held up her palm the veins glowed faintly blue. Fainter than before, but real. Alive.
"Wrath," she murmured. "That's what you've become."
A breeze moved the curtains. The scent of smoke drifted through the open window. She froze. Down in the courtyard, torches were burning—and not the harmless kind. Guards were moving in formation.
Someone had entered the estate.
-
A knock.
"My lady?" Elise's frightened voice came through the door. "The Duke requests your presence. He says the Crown sent men to question you."
Seraphina's stomach turned. Already? Veylor had been right—the court was moving faster than she'd expected.
"Tell them I'll be there soon," she said. Her voice was calm; her hands weren't.
She dressed quickly—a black gown with silver embroidery, the one Seraphina Dorne had once worn to her own trial. It felt almost poetic.
When she opened the door, Elise stepped back. "You look—different."
"Good," Seraphina replied. "Let them see what they created."
-
The drawing room blazed with candlelight. Her father, Duke Alaric Dorne, stood by the hearth, posture rigid. Opposite him were three men in royal armor, their cloaks bearing the crimson sun of Aravell.
At their center stood him.
Crown Prince Kael.
He looked almost bored, fingers drumming against his sword's hilt. But when his eyes met hers, the air shifted. Recognition—or something close to it—flickered in his gaze.
"Lady Dorne," he said, his tone smooth but cautious. "There are questions regarding your conduct at court."
"My conduct?" she echoed. "Or your conscience?"
The guards stiffened. Her father's breath caught. Kael's expression didn't change.
"You were seen leaving the palace after the reprimand," he continued. "And a servant swore he saw you enter the forbidden catacombs beneath the chapel. Do you deny it?"
"I don't recall visiting the chapel," she said lightly. "Though I do recall you sending me to my knees."
A flicker of heat crossed his eyes—anger, maybe shame. "Careful, Seraphina."
"Always," she said, stepping closer. "Tell me, Your Highness, do you ever hear them? The screams? The crackle of fire?"
Kael's jaw tightened. "Enough."
He turned away. "Keep her confined to Everfell until the investigation is complete."
Her father bowed stiffly. The guards moved.
But when Kael reached the door, he hesitated—just long enough for her to whisper:
"Do you still dream of the Saint?"
He froze. The candlelight trembled. Then he walked out without a word.
-
That night, Seraphina sat at her desk, staring at the charred diary page she'd found days earlier. The edges had begun to flake, as if time itself wanted to erase it.
At the bottom corner, beneath the burnt ink, new words had appeared—written in glowing blue.
The fire remembers what the living forget.
Her fingers shook. The ink pulsed once and faded.
She looked out at the courtyard, where Kael's torches had burned hours ago. Only embers remained.
"Then remember me," she whispered. "Because I haven't finished with you."