There were three rules Seraphina Dorne had learned as a child of scandal.
First, if someone tells you not to bring a guard, bring a blade.
Second, secrets spoken under moonlight usually end in blood.
And third, never ever ever…show up first.
But there she was, standing alone in the Mirror Garden of House Lunaris at five minutes to midnight, her reflection flickering across a thousand silver-petaled blossoms.
She hadn't brought a guard.
She hadn't brought a blade either.
Just herself, a small throwing knife tucked into her boot, and the sort of reckless curiosity that had once gotten her locked in a cellar with a goat and a singing spell gone wrong.
Elion would've called her foolish.
Which made this whole thing more appealing.
---
The Mirror Garden was hidden deep in the south wing of the palace, a place whispered about more than visited. The flowers were rumored to be grown in enchanted soil, blooming only for secrets too dangerous to speak aloud.
They glittered under moonlight, silvery-white with edges like cut glass.
And they murmured. Not in words. Just rustles, like gossip. As if they were waiting to hear hers.
She didn't give them anything. Not yet.
Instead, she waited.
Until the air shifted behind her.
"You came alone," said a voice. Low, male, sharp as broken porcelain.
She didn't turn.
"Would you have still shown up if I'd brought ten guards and a fireball?"
"I would've enjoyed the fireball."
She turned slowly.
The man who stepped from the shadows was younger than she expected, early thirties at most, but with a face carved like he hadn't smiled since childhood. Pale, angular, with a black crescent sigil over one eye, tattooed, not drawn.
House Morvane. The King's rival bloodline.
And standing with him, quiet and calm, was a woman in a red velvet hood. Tall. Hands clasped. Gloved. But Seraphina recognized her instantly.
Lady Ismere. The Royal Alchemist.
Interesting.
"We have a proposal," the man said.
"I'm already bonded," Seraphina replied.
"This isn't about love."
"Good. I'm not in the mood."
Lady Ismere stepped forward. "The ring that bound you to Elion, where did it come from?"
"Magic," Seraphina said blandly.
"This is serious," the man snapped.
"So am I. I didn't choose the ring. It chose me. And unless I missed something, magical jewelry isn't exactly rare in a kingdom where portraits blink and candelabras hum lullabies."
Lady Ismere lifted a hand. "You're not the first to wear it."
That stopped her.
"…What?"
"The ring belonged to the last woman who tried to break Elion's curse," she said softly.
Seraphina felt the warmth of the band on her finger spike. Not painfully. Just enough to remind her it was listening.
"She died," Ismere continued. "Her name was Lysandra Vale. She vanished within the Blackmere estate. Her body was never found."
"Was she in love with him?" Seraphina asked.
"No one knows. But her death… unraveled half the magical grid in the southern provinces. The bond consumed her."
Consumed?
"You're telling me I'm wearing the soul ring of a dead woman who thought she could fix him?"
Ismere didn't answer.
But the silence said everything.
Seraphina exhaled and looked away. The flowers swayed around her, pale and whispering.
"And what exactly do you want from me?"
"To survive," the man said.
"To help us end the bond," Ismere clarified.
"And if I don't?"
The man smiled, and it was all teeth. "Then you're one step away from being the next ghost haunting Blackmere."
She stared at him.
Then smiled right back. " I've always been a ghost."
---
Back in her chamber, hours later, Seraphina stripped off her boots and fell back into the pillows with a groan.
"You took a risk," came a voice from the window.
She didn't jump.
"Must you perch?" she asked.
Elion sat in her open window, one leg hanging down, the other drawn up like he was king of shadows and didn't care who saw.
"You're supposed to be locked in a different wing."
"I don't care."
"You're supposed to pretend not to care."
He tilted his head. "You saw Ismere."
"You already knew."
"I saw it in your face."
"And you're here because…?"
He slid down from the window like gravity obeyed him more than most. "Because the bond warned me."
"Warned you?"
"That you were in danger."
"I'm not," she said.
"You were."
He stood close now. Closer than was polite. The bond flared again, warmer this time. Like wine poured too fast. Like the heartbeat of something waking up.
"Your eyes are glowing," she murmured.
"They do that."
"I'm not sleeping with you tonight."
"I didn't ask."
"Still. Just putting it out there."
He smirked. The first real smirk she'd seen on him.
Then he leaned in, brushed a thumb down her cheek, and whispered:
"Good."
Her knees went weak.
Not from fear.
But from the possibility.