"Alaric signed my death decree."
Caelan went completely still. She felt his shock through their connection.
"Real," he repeated quietly. "You mean..."
She looked at Alaric's unconscious form. Bandages wrapped around his ribs. White cloth stained with blood. His chest rising and falling slowly. The man who had watched her burn.
"I was executed. Chained to a pyre. Set on fire while the court watched." Her voice stayed flat. "Alaric signed the decree. Evelyne stood there smiling while I burned."
The air in the medical tent shifted. Caelan's breath caught. Wind magic responded to his shock. Canvas walls rustled.
"That's impossible."
"I was pregnant. Two months. I begged them to spare the child." The memory hit hard. Her own voice breaking as flames climbed her legs. "Evelyne told me she was carrying Alaric's heir too. The real heir. Mine was just an inconvenience."
She felt his horror and rage through their connection. Raw emotions that made her chest tighten. His magic sparked. Wind moved through the medical tent.
"Are you..." His voice caught. "Now, I mean. Are you pregnant now?"
"Thank the gods, no." The relief in her voice was immediate. "Not this time."
Through their connection, she felt his relief hit him hard. The thought of her carrying Alaric's child while knowing what she knew, while planning what she planned. It would have been unbearable for both of them. She caught pieces of his thoughts. Protective instincts fighting strategic necessity. The impossible position of watching her stay married to a murderer.
"How are you alive?"
"I survived. Somehow." She didn't understand how herself. One moment burning, flesh cracking from heat. The next waking up in silk sheets with unmarked skin. "But I remember everything. The heat. The smoke. How they all watched like it was entertainment."
The details wanted to spill out. The smell of her own burning hair. How chains held her upright as fire climbed higher. The faces in the crowd. Some horrified, others satisfied. But she held them back. Some truths were too brutal even for allies.
Caelan's hands became fists. His voice went deadly quiet. "Then I'll burn the world before I let them burn you again."
The words hit her hard. Not just protection. Complete destruction of anyone who threatened her. A vow that made something in her chest flutter with dangerous warmth. She'd never had someone willing to destroy everything for her survival.
"You came to me because you knew."
"I knew they'd try again. Different method, same goal. I needed an ally who could match their power." She met his eyes. "Someone who wouldn't break when things got bad."
"And you chose me."
"I chose the Wolf of Vorenthal. The man who never loses." She paused, studying his face. "I just didn't expect it to hurt this much, caring about you while surrounded by people who want to destroy us both."
The admission hung between them. Honest and dangerous. Through their connection, she felt his protective instincts getting stronger. The man who'd already sworn to burn the world for her, now knowing exactly why that vow mattered.
Alaric stirred. A low groan escaped him as he tried to move. Pain hit his face. His eyes opened slowly. Unfocused and clouded with medication.
"Seraphina?" His voice was weak.
She moved to his side instantly. Perfect concerned wife despite the rage burning in her chest. "I'm here. You're safe."
"What happened?"
"Demons. You were injured. Duke Vorenthal saved your life." She let enough gratitude color her voice. The right amount of relief at her husband's survival.
Alaric's jaw tightened. Even through pain and medication, the reminder stung. He owed his life to his greatest rival. The man who commanded armies while Alaric played political games.
"Yes," he said stiffly. "I remember."
She felt Caelan's control breaking through their connection. How much effort it took to speak politely to the man who'd signed her death warrant.
The restraint was costing him. Magic crackling with barely controlled violence.
Wind moved through the tent without his permission. Sharp enough to slice a thin line in the canvas wall.
"How bad are the injuries?" Alaric asked.
"Broken ribs. Some internal bleeding. The healers say you need weeks of rest." She smoothed wrinkles from his blanket. "Complete bed rest. No travel, no stress."
Alaric tried to sit up. Pain hit his face hard. He fell back against the pillows. "Weeks? That's not possible. The court..."
"Will manage without you." Her voice carried the right amount of wifely concern. "Your health comes first. Nothing else matters."
But even as she spoke the words, panic started in her chest.
The charity gala was in three days. Marcus's fifty thousand gold pledge would be announced publicly. Every noble family that mattered would be watching. She'd have to play gracious hostess while Alaric expected her constant care.
And underneath it all, magic pulled at her mind. Ancient calls that wouldn't be ignored much longer.
Thornwick Grove. The second trial.
Not in months. Not in weeks. Soon.
"Perhaps we should transport you back to Vessant manor," she suggested carefully. "Your own physicians know your constitution. Familiar surroundings might speed your recovery."
"You'll come with me." Not a question. A demand softened by injury but still carrying absolute ownership.
"Of course." The lie hurt her throat.
"Though I do have obligations. The charity gala requires my presence."
She paused. Let calculated vulnerability enter her voice.
"And my parents' anniversary observances. I'm only halfway through my month-long stay at the D'Lorien estate. Mother's anniversary requires a full month. I can't abandon it halfway through without dishonoring everything they built."
Alaric's eyes sharpened despite his weakness. "Marcus Branthorne? How much?"
His tone cut sharp. Jealousy masked as business.
"Fifty thousand gold." She let satisfaction color her voice. Pride in securing such an influential patron. "When someone of his standing commits publicly, it encourages others to follow. The ripple effects could triple our funding."
A smile crossed Alaric's face, but his eyes stayed calculating. Pleased with his own judgment but watching her reaction too closely. "It was wise to allow you to continue your friendship and professional networking with him. I knew that connection would prove beneficial."
She moved closer. Placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Perhaps... Evelyne could help with your care? She's such a reliable cousin, always so devoted to family. She'd do anything for me if I asked, and I know she'd be happy to care for her cousin in law."
She paused. Let innocent warmth color her voice.
"After all, you two should be like brother and sister, considering how close Evelyne and I are. We practically grew up as sisters."
She felt Caelan's sharp attention through their connection. He caught the cutting sarcasm beneath her innocent tone. The pointed reminder of what Alaric's relationship with Evelyne should be versus what it actually was. Family bonds violated. Trust betrayed. Decency abandoned for lust.
The suggestion was surgical in its precision. Either Alaric accepted brotherly care from his secret lover, or revealed why such innocent family assistance made him uncomfortable.
"I should check with the healers," she said, standing. "Make sure you're stable for transport. Confirm what medications you'll need during recovery."
Outside the tent, she pressed her back against rough canvas and tried to breathe. The afternoon sun beat down hard, but she felt cold despite the heat. Battle sounds had faded to murmurs. Men cleaning weapons, tending horses, sorting supplies.
Three impossible obligations crashed together. Alaric needed care but couldn't suspect she wanted him gone. The gala needed her presence for orphanage funding. The trials called but revealing her magic meant death.
And Caelan now knew she'd been murdered. The secret that changed everything between them.
She felt him approach before he spoke. Their connection hummed with his presence. Warm against her consciousness.
"Tell me what you need." His voice was low. Controlled. The careful tone of someone managing enormous emotion.
"I need to be in three places at once." She kept her voice steady despite internal chaos. "I need to play devoted wife, attend a gala that requires my presence, and answer a magical calling that won't wait for convenient timing."
"The trials."
She nodded. Didn't trust her voice. Through their connection, she felt his understanding. Magic didn't negotiate with human schedules. Power demanded what it demanded, when it demanded it.
"Thornwick Grove. I can feel it pulling. If I don't respond soon..."
"What happens?"
"I don't know. But magical compulsions aren't known for patience." The understatement of the century. Ancient magic could destroy minds that ignored its calls too long. "Every day the pressure increases."
Caelan was quiet for a moment. Calculating odds the way generals planned campaigns. "I can manage Alaric's transport. Make sure he gets back safely to Vessant manor."
"Why would you do that?"
His smile was sharp. Cold as winter steel. "Because keeping him alive is strategic. When we destroy him, it needs to be legally. Completely. His death here would make him a martyr to his supporters."
"And if he suspects?"
"He already suspects something. But he doesn't know what." Caelan's voice carried deadly certainty. The patience of a predator confident in eventual victory. "Let him wonder. Let him worry. Fear makes people careless, and careless people make mistakes."
His hand found hers. Warm skin over steady pulse. "I'll buy you time. Whatever you need to face."
Before she could respond, magic flared around her. Not her power but something else entirely. Ancient energy that made her teeth ache and skin prickle.
Wild. Patient. Hungry.
The vision hit without warning.
Twisted trees bent reality around them. Bark flowing like water while leaves sang with voices of the long dead. Starlight pooled in impossible colors that had no names in any human language. Wild magic that rewrote the laws of nature itself. Making mockery of everything mortals thought they understood.
The Grove calls. Time fragments. Come before stability crumbles. Come before enemies realize what you're becoming.
Second trial awaits. Ancient wild magic demands its due.
The vision shattered.
Seraphina gasped, her hand burning against the tent canvas.
The Grove wasn't just calling.
It was claiming her. And this time, no vow, no ally, no lie would save her.