The palace looked the same. That was the first thing Liora noticed.
Same obsidian towers and flame-gilded windows. Same echoing halls with smoke-touched arches and golden fire swirling above doorways like watchful eyes. But she wasn't the same girl who had once scrubbed soot from its floors and flinched at every shout from a noble's tongue.
Now, the ash seemed to cling to her lungs in a new way. Now, her footsteps didn't echo—because they were swallowed by the silence of power.
She was a guest, they said. A guest escorted by guards who didn't speak, wearing a dress stitched in fire-thread that shimmered every time she moved. Her wrists were no longer bound in chains, but that didn't make her free.
She was ushered to a guest wing—opulent and smothering, its high walls carved with phoenixes devouring themselves. There was fruit on golden plates. Perfume hanging in the air. A feather-soft bed large enough for three.
And yet she felt caged.
She wandered to the window, palms pressed to the cold pane. Below, the capital burned with its usual glow. A city of smoke and embers, all polished stone and obedience.
Behind her, the bond to Riven pulsed faintly in her chest. She hadn't seen him since the throne room. Not a word. Not a glance. The silence between them was worse than a sword to the ribs.
She was grateful for it.
Or so she told herself.
The door burst open.
Brisa's arms wrapped around her a heartbeat later. "Gods above and below, you're still whole."
Liora let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "More or less."
Kael followed, walking slowly, a faint limp in his left leg. "You always did know how to make an entrance."
Liora crossed the room and threw her arms around him. His breath hitched but he hugged her back tightly.
"You didn't have to—"
"You think we'd let you die alone?" Brisa interrupted.
Kael added, "We were ready to go up in flames beside you."
Liora's throat tightened. She stepped back and gestured helplessly. "And now I'm about to be bound to the Queen's weapon like some cursed wedding from hell."
Brisa grabbed her hands. "Then we'll find a way to break it. You don't have to do this."
"I do," Liora said, more quietly than she intended. "If I don't, the Queen will execute you. Maybe worse. I can survive this. I've survived worse."
Kael frowned. "And Riven? Do you trust him?"
She looked away.
Kael didn't push. He just said, "Then don't let him in. Not even a little."
She nodded. But her stomach turned. Because he already was in. And the worst part? She didn't know if she hated it.
Later that evening, the door creaked open.
Riven stood on the threshold.
Liora didn't move. "Took you long enough."
"You needed time."
She laughed once, bitter. "To what? Accept my fate? Write vows? Practice calling you 'Master' with a straight face?"
His jaw tightened. "I came to explain the ritual."
She turned slowly. "Fine. Let's pretend I care."
He stepped inside, staying near the wall. "Tomorrow, you and I will stand before the Queen and the Flame Priests. You'll bleed into the altar. I'll do the same. The flames will mark us both."
Liora folded her arms. "And then what? I become your leashed beast?"
"No," he said quietly. "You become her weapon. I'm the leash."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
He didn't answer.
"You should've let me die," she said. "At least that would've been my choice."
He looked up at her, and for once, she saw it—that flicker of something unguarded.
"I could've," he said. "Ten times over. I didn't."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
She hated him for that. She hated how tired he looked when he said it. How honest.
When he left, she curled into the blankets of the too-soft bed and cried without making a sound.