I felt the council meeting before Caelan ever reached the doors.
The bond lit up like a warning flare, sharp and immediate, flooding me with tension that wasn't mine. Anger. Frustration. The distinct sensation of walking into an ambush.
My hands stilled on the book I'd been pretending to read, spine straightening as the emotions sharpened, clarified. They were cornering him. Interrogating him. And every defensive wall he'd carefully lowered last night was slamming back into place, brick by brick.
"Shit," I muttered, tossing the book aside.
Elara looked up from where she'd been organizing my wardrobe, concern flickering across her face. "My lady?"
"The council knows." The words tasted bitter. "About us. About the bond changing."
Her eyes widened. "How could they possibly—"
"Court mages," I said flatly, already moving toward the door. "They monitor magical fluctuations. Of course they'd notice when a politically mandated bond suddenly got personal."
"Where are you going?"
Good question. Storming into a council meeting uninvited would be suicide. But standing here doing nothing while they tore into Caelan felt impossible.
The bond pulsed again, harder this time, carrying words I shouldn't be able to hear but somehow could. *Emotional involvement beyond what is politically necessary.* Halvard's voice, dripping with disdain. Then Caelan's response, steady and defiant. *I've stopped fighting it.*
My breath caught.
He wasn't denying anything. Wasn't deflecting or lying or playing their political games. He was telling them the truth, consequences be damned.
And they were going to crucify him for it.
"My lady?" Elara's voice pulled me back. "You look pale."
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. "I'm fine. I just need—" The bond flared hot with sudden rage, and I gasped. "They're threatening him."
Not physically. Worse. They were threatening to dismantle everything we'd built. Three days, his father had said. Three days to prove that love could serve the crown's interests, or watch them destroy it piece by piece.
The meeting ended abruptly, severing the connection like a cut wire.
Silence rushed back in, but my heart was still racing, adrenaline singing through my veins. Caelan was coming. I could feel him moving through the palace, fury and determination tangled together, heading straight for me.
I barely had time to brace myself before my door swung open.
He looked wrecked. Hair disheveled from running his hands through it too many times, jaw tight, eyes blazing with barely contained anger. But underneath it all, I caught something else. Fear.
"You felt it," he said. Not a question.
"Most of it." I crossed my arms, trying to appear calmer than I felt. "They're giving you three days."
"Three days to prove that caring about you doesn't make me a liability." His laugh was sharp, humorless. "As if love operates on council deadlines."
"What happens if you can't?"
His expression darkened. "They'll separate us. Not obviously. They're too clever for that. But they'll make it impossible for us to be together. Different wings. Restricted access. Turn the bond into something monitored and controlled until it suffocates under their scrutiny."
Ice settled in my stomach. "They can do that?"
"They'll try." He stepped closer, and I saw the cracks forming in his composure. "My father doesn't bluff, Sera. If he says three days, he means it."
"Then we have three days to figure this out."
"Figure what out?" Frustration bled into his voice. "How to convince a council of politicians that emotions have strategic value? That's not an argument they're built to understand."
"Then we don't argue it," I said, mind already racing. "We show them."
He blinked. "Show them what?"
"That I'm not just some pretty symbol they can control. That Thornveil's alliance is stronger because we're united, not in spite of it." I started pacing, thoughts clicking into place. "Your council thinks I'm a leash on my family's ambitions. So let's prove I'm a bridge instead."
"Sera—"
"Thornveil has resources your court needs," I continued, warming to the idea. "Trade routes through the northern passes. Mining rights in the Blackpeak ranges. Intelligence networks your spies can't penetrate. My father's been holding those cards close because he doesn't trust your council. But he trusts me."
Caelan's eyes sharpened. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying I can deliver concessions that would take your diplomats years to negotiate. But only if your council stops treating me like a problem to be managed and starts treating me like an asset to be leveraged."
A slow, dangerous smile crossed his face. "They want proof that this bond serves the crown's interests. You're offering them exactly that."
"More than that." I stopped pacing, met his gaze directly. "I'm offering them something they can't get any other way. Because the only reason my father would agree to those terms is if he believes I'm genuinely invested in this alliance. If he thinks I'm being coerced or manipulated, he'll pull back everything. But if he sees that I *chose* this, that I'm fighting for it—"
"He'll support it," Caelan finished. "Publicly. Politically."
"Exactly."
For the first time since he'd walked in, some of the tension eased from his shoulders. "That could work. If we can arrange a meeting with your father before the three days are up—"
A knock interrupted him. Sharp, purposeful.
We both froze.
"Prince Caelan." The voice was unfamiliar, female, carrying the clipped formality of palace staff. "Her Majesty requests Lady Seraphina's presence in the Rose Garden. Immediately."
My stomach dropped. "The Queen?"
Caelan's expression went carefully blank. "My mother doesn't make casual requests."
"Should I be worried?"
"Probably." He moved toward the door, then stopped, turned back. "Don't go alone. Take Elara. And be careful what you say. My mother's loyalties are... complicated."
The way he said it sent warning bells clanging through my head.
"Complicated how?"
His jaw tightened. "She serves the crown first. Always. But she's not above playing her own games to do it. If she's summoning you now, right after that council meeting, it's not a coincidence."
"You think she's going to threaten me?"
"I think," Caelan said quietly, "she's going to offer you something. And whatever it is, it'll come with strings attached."
The bond hummed with his unease, confirming what I already suspected. This wasn't just a polite royal tea invitation. This was a test. Maybe a trap.
"Then I'd better not keep Her Majesty waiting," I said, forcing confidence into my voice I didn't entirely feel.
Caelan caught my hand as I moved past him. "Sera. My mother is brilliant. Calculating. And she's been navigating court politics since before either of us was born. Don't underestimate her."
I squeezed his hand once. "I won't."
But as I followed the servant through winding corridors toward the Rose Garden, dread coiled tighter in my chest. The council was one enemy. Predictable, transparent in their hostility.
The Queen was something else entirely.
And I had the sinking feeling I was about to find out exactly what Caelan meant by *complicated.*
The Rose Garden appeared ahead, beautiful and manicured and utterly wrong for the conversation I knew was coming.
Queen Isolde stood among the flowers, waiting.
And she was smiling.