The contraceptive potion burned going down.
Seraphina gripped the bathroom sink, bitter herbs clawing at her throat like poison. The taste reminded her of medicinal teas from childhood, when Mother would brew remedies for everything except the betrayal that would eventually kill her.
She'd memorized this ritual. Retrieve the vial from behind the loose tile. Drink without hesitation. Never let innocent blood pay for this war.
The child from her first timeline still haunted her dreams. Lost when they burned her alive, a ghost that would never breathe. Her hand pressed against her flat stomach, remembering phantom kicks that had never been.
No innocents. Not again.
In the mirror, fire-scars traced silver lines along her arms, permanent proof of surviving the Soulfire Confluence. They pulsed now with subtle heat, responding to something she couldn't yet name.
Intelligence first. Emotion later.
House Verenor. The name had slipped between Alaric's whispered confessions like a blade finding flesh. "Our friends in House Verenor understand the importance of stability."
Not allies. Friends. This wasn't political convenience but genuine partnership spanning years, maybe decades. She'd caught the casual intimacy in his tone, the way someone spoke about family rather than business associates.
Phinia Ashara. They were asking questions about the merchant's rapid rise, her unusual connections, her ability to secure deals that established houses couldn't touch. Alaric seemed concerned but not alarmed. He hadn't connected his wife to his business rival.
Yet.
Future royalty. "When we have proper recognition," he'd murmured against her skin. "The current imperial line won't hold forever."
Ambitions that reached beyond ducal status toward something far more treacherous. Treason wrapped in silk and whispered like pillow talk.
Three pieces of intelligence. If she lived long enough to use them.
The bathroom tiles were cold under her bare feet as she returned to bed. Alaric's arm slid around her waist without him waking, pulling her against warmth that felt like a trap closing.
She lay still, calculating new parameters as his breathing stayed slow and even.
Never again.
Morning brought a different Alaric.
He woke with the satisfied look of a man whose world had finally made sense. Where suspicion used to live, genuine affection had moved in. Worse than hatred. Harder to predict.
"Good morning, beloved." He kissed her shoulder with actual tenderness.
The word beloved hit like a physical blow. In her first timeline, he'd called her that too, right before signing her execution warrant.
She recognized obsession wearing the mask of devotion.
"You seem different today."
"Different?" His smile was genuine, which made it dangerous. "I feel like I'm seeing clearly for the first time. Seeing you."
His fingers traced patterns on her bare arm, following the path of her fire-scars without realizing what they meant. Each touch felt like ownership being claimed, territory being marked.
Even a cage wrapped in silk is still a cage.
Breakfast became an exercise in managing his newfound attention. He touched her constantly, fingers brushing hers as he passed the honey, knee pressed against hers under the table, eyes tracking her every movement like a hunter memorizing prey patterns.
"Maybe you should cut back on the charity work," he said, cutting fruit with deliberate care. The knife gleamed silver in morning light, and his eyes lingered on her throat as the blade moved through flesh. "Spend more time here. With me."
The cage was reshaping itself. His concern felt like a garrote, silk-wrapped but tightening with each breath. "I wouldn't want to disappoint the orphanage directors."
"Our steward can handle donations." His tone carried absolute certainty, the voice of a man who'd never been told no. "You have more important responsibilities now. A devoted wife shouldn't exhaust herself with outside concerns."
Outside concerns. Like the network she'd built. The allies she'd cultivated. The identity that mattered beyond these walls.
She nodded while calculating new restrictions. More attention meant increased scrutiny. Less freedom. But also more opportunities to influence his decisions, if she played this correctly.
"You're absolutely right," she said, letting gratitude warm her voice as her smile touched her eyes, a perfect performance of sweet surrender. "I've been neglecting what matters most."
His satisfaction was immediate and complete, melting at how sweetly she accepted her cage. The hunter relaxing because his trap had finally caught its prey.
All cages have weaknesses. She just had to find them.
The news came during their second cup of tea, a messenger arriving with barely controlled panic written across his face.
"Demon incursions at the eastern borders," the courier reported, words tumbling over each other. "Three fortresses lost overnight. Every Duke with military experience has been summoned to immediate service."
The words hit like physical blows. Each syllable confirmed her worst fears and something darker, a pattern she was only beginning to understand.
Caelan. Gone. Pulled away by consequences she had triggered. Her strongest ally, removed from the board exactly when she needed protection most.
"How long ago?" she asked, keeping her voice level while her fire-scars began to burn.
"Duke Vorenthal departed three hours past dawn, my lady."
Three hours. While she'd been managing Alaric's transformed affections, her support network had been systematically dismantled. The timing felt too precise, too convenient.
Her awakening. The border crisis. Caelan's departure. Too many coincidences happening at once.
"Terrible timing," Alaric said, but his tone carried satisfaction that made her blood chill. "Duke Vorenthal's departure removes certain complications from our sphere of influence."
His casual dismissal confirmed what she'd suspected, he saw her ally as an obstacle to complete control. His pleasure at the crisis revealed priorities that valued personal dominance over imperial security.
"Will you be called to service as well?" she asked, letting worry color her voice.
"My expertise lies in domestic stability rather than military campaigns." He replied smoothly, already planning. "The empire needs strong leadership at home while others chase demons."
Translation: he'd consolidate power while rivals faced mortal danger.
The burning in her scars intensified, spreading up her arms like wildfire under skin. Something beyond politics was stirring. Something that recognized the demon attacks as more than random border skirmishes.
Her bloodline was responding to cosmic imbalance.
"Beloved? What's wrong?" Alaric's concern was immediate and real.
Pain cut through her skull like a blade. The world tilted, reality fracturing as vision replaced sight.
Not here. Not now.
But the Ember Sanctum was calling, and ancient magic didn't wait for convenient timing.
She stood in a place between worlds.
Black stone rose around her, carved with symbols that pulsed with inner fire. The Ember Sanctum. She knew the name without understanding how, recognized the space like she'd walked these halls in dreams that weren't quite dreams.
At the center, a ritual circle waited, stones humming with power that vibrated in her teeth, her ribs, her very bones. Heat that called to something in her blood older than memory, older than the empire itself.
This place had been waiting for her. Not hoping. Waiting. With the certainty of prophecy and the patience of eternity.
The fire-scars on her arms burned in perfect sync with symbols etched into the floor. Her bloodline responding to architecture designed for purposes she barely understood. This wasn't random magical overflow, this was invitation. Summons. Command.
"Come home," whispered a voice that carried the weight of generations. Her mother's voice, or maybe her great-great-grandmother's, or the stones themselves speaking with accumulated authority. "Come home and claim what was always yours."
Images flooded her mind, women who'd walked these halls before her. Warriors. Rulers. Flamebearers who'd held the realm together when darkness pressed at its borders. Each one carrying the same fire that now burned in her veins.
The vision shifted. She saw the demon attacks spreading like infection across the eastern borders. Saw the connection between her magical awakening and the realm's supernatural instability. Her bloodline suppressed for too long, consequences cascading through reality itself.
The longer she waited, the worse it would get.
"Come home," the voice repeated, urgent now. "Come home before it's too late."
The vision shattered.
She found herself gripping the breakfast table, Alaric's hands steady on her shoulders as concern painted his features.
"Seraphina? Talk to me."
But the burning remained, and with it, certainty that had nothing to do with politics or tactics. The Ember Sanctum was calling. Her bloodline was awakening to purposes that made noble houses and imperial politics look small.
The demon incursions weren't random. They were consequences, the realm responding to imbalance created by generations of suppressed heritage. Her fire-scars pulsed with each heartbeat, counting down to something inevitable.
"Just a headache," she managed. "Too much excitement."
Alaric's eyes searched her face, looking for cracks in her performance. "You've been having these headaches more frequently."
Had she? The magical awakening was accelerating, becoming harder to hide. Soon she wouldn't be able to pretend it was simple exhaustion.
"I'm fine," she said, but even as the words left her mouth, heat spread through her chest. Not painful now, purposeful. Directed.
The Ember Sanctum wasn't just calling anymore. It was pulling, drawing her toward a destiny that would reshape everything.
And she knew, with the terrible clarity of prophecy, that when she answered that call, everything would change. Not just for her, but for the realm itself.
The fire had awakened. Now it demanded its throne.
Some flames, once lit, cannot be extinguished.
They can only choose what they burn.
The Ember Sanctum is calling. And she will heed its call.