The canvas still smoked. Seraphina yanked her hand back, skin unmarked, but her bones hummed wrong. The Grove wouldn't let her breathe. Wouldn't let her think. Every heartbeat dragged her closer.
"We need to talk."
Caelan stared at the burned handprint on canvas. Black mark still smoking, edges curling inward like something alive.
"Where?"
Alaric's voice drifted from the medical tent nearby. Getting stronger with each passing hour. "Seraphina? Where did you go? I need you here."
Each call made her want to scream. The possessive tone. Like she was furniture with a pulse.
"Anywhere but here." Caelan swept the camp. Tents full, stretchers moving, healers grim. Guards shuttled between triage lines. "That one's empty."
They slipped into an empty med-tent at the far edge. Bandages stacked on wooden tables. Healing potions glowing amber in flickering lamplight. A Thornwick Bros apothecary bottle caught the light. Brown cork chipped, someone's thumbnail mark in the wax.
The tent smelled wrong. Blood and medicine, yes, but underneath something else. Demon magic residue that made her skin crawl.
"Your hand. What exactly happened?"
"Thornwick Grove. The second trial." She examined her palm in the lamplight. Looked normal but felt fundamentally changed. "It's calling me."
"How?"
"Vision. No, more like a shove." How do you explain madness without sounding insane? "Go left at the split oak. Past the stump with lightning scars. The ground breathes in the hollow. Bark moves like water. Leaves sang in a voice I knew and had never heard."
The pull tightened. Hour by hour.
Starlight pooling in impossible colors. Air breathing with ancient intent. Reality bending. Fever dream.
But trying to explain it made her sound completely mad.
"What else did it show you?"
"The consequences." Her voice cracked. "Complete the trial, save everyone. Fail and the realm goes dark. That was the message." She met his eyes. "The old margins called it a Realmward. Once performed, never repeated."
Caelan went completely still.
"Everyone in the realm?"
"Everyone." Still heard those exact words echoing relentlessly. "The vision didn't whisper. It ordered."
"But the grove's been sealed for decades. It kills people who try to enter."
"I don't get to choose." The pressure behind her ribs was becoming unbearable. Building like a storm refusing to break. "Come now or lose everything. Over and over until I thought I'd go mad."
Heavy footsteps approached. Multiple voices discussing patrol schedules. Caelan's hand moved to his sword hilt.
The flap jerked open. Cold air slapped the tent's heat.
A scout stumbled inside, mud-slick from hard riding and shaking from exhaustion. Leather armor soaked through, ash streaked his face.
"East line," he blurted between gasps. "They're not poking for sport anymore. They're learning us. Small packs, quiet ones, smart ones. Mapping where we're thin, when we change shifts." He dragged a dirty sleeve across his face. "And the cleared ground? No magical wards at all. They figured it out."
Fuck. Without her family's warding magic, demons would retake everything within days.
"There's more," the scout continued, hands shaking as adrenaline wore off. "Reports from other provinces. Demon attacks breaking through everywhere except..." He paused, reconsidering. "Only places that aren't D'Lorien/Celestine bloodline territory are getting hit hard. Something magical protects those specific lands."
Her ancestral magic. Automatic protections for family heritage while everyone else died.
"How long before coordinated assault?" Caelan asked what mattered.
"They're organizing something massive. Days, maybe a week at most." The scout looked between them with desperate eyes. "Could be less once they stop tripping over themselves."
After he left with new orders, heavy silence stretched between them. Her fingers still clenched from tension.
"If I fail the warding, we lose the line. If I miss the gala, we lose the money. If I refuse the Grove, the realm falls." She rubbed tired eyes with her palms. "Three fires. One bucket."
Each obligation carried unmovable timing.
"The charity gala happens in three days. Marcus announces his fifty thousand gold pledge publicly."
"Every noble family watching my performance." Her head pounded. "I've spent months building relationships with potential donors. One wrong move destroys everything. I need this charity cover until I'm able to file for divorce."
One blown smile at the gala costs us fifty thousand gold and three border keeps. That simple.
"You can't miss it," Caelan agreed grimly.
"No. Too many people will dissect every move, every word, every expression." She pressed hands to temples where headache formed. "So I save the cleared lands tonight through ritual work that drains my magical reserves completely. Play perfect hostess in three days while running on fumes. Then somehow get to the Grove for a trial that might kill me."
Three different people. Three flawless performances. All while managing a suspicious husband and deadly enemies.
Four anchors. Blood price at each. If she misdraws a single line, the wards fail and she may not wake up. Moonrise starts the clock.
"What about managing Alaric?"
His voice came through canvas again. Stronger each hour. More demanding.
"You offered to handle transport back to Vessant manor," she said. "But he'll expect me to accompany him. Any devoted wife would stay by her injured husband's side for weeks of nursing."
The expectation wasn't just social. Alaric had specific ideas about wives and duties. His mother had been the perfect example. Sacrificing everything for her husband's comfort.
"He'll be suspicious if you refuse that expectation."
"Of course. And I can't spend weeks playing perfect nursemaid while demons overrun the realm because I was busy maintaining my cover."
The bitter irony cut deep. The man who'd signed her death warrant now expected complete devotion while she tried to save the world he'd helped endanger.
Caelan moved closer. She hadn't realized how much tension she carried until his presence grounded her spiraling thoughts.
"I can't..." She stopped. Started again. "I can't do this alone." The admission felt like stripping armor mid-battle.
Caelan's hand found her face. Rough. Steady. He smelled like steel and mint salve. "Not by yourself."
Her laugh broke sharp. "That's not practical."
"Don't care."
The space between them disappeared. She wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly his forehead pressed against hers. She could see the pulse at his throat, the tension in his neck muscles.
"I'll stand on your flank tonight during warding," he said quietly, voice carrying absolute conviction. "Handle demons that try to interrupt the ritual."
"At the gala, I'll watch for political threats and hostile nobles. At the Grove I'll walk with you until it throws me back."
The fierce conviction sent dangerous heat through her chest. Something tight and fearful loosened.
Then she pulled back first, choosing duty over comfort. Moments didn't save realms.
"That's not exactly safe for you."
"I don't care about practical anymore."
For a moment, the crushing weight lifted slightly. Breathing the same air felt like sharing the burden.
A sweet voice cut through general camp noise. From Alaric's tent direction. Perfectly pitched to carry just far enough.
"Cousin dear? I heard you were injured. I came as soon as I could arrange transport."
Evelyne. Her perfume hit first. Expensive florals, a clean blade under the bloom.
Seraphina met Caelan's eyes. His hand moved toward his sword. Every muscle tensed like a predator sensing lethal threat.
"She's here," Seraphina whispered, but her mind raced through implications at lightning speed. "The perfect solution just walked into our camp."
Through canvas walls, Evelyne's voice grew closer to Alaric's tent. Sweet concern. Too sweet. The kind she wore when she wanted doors to open on their own.
"My poor cousin. You look terrible. Don't worry, I'm here to take proper care of you."
Masterful. She pinned on 'family duty' and the guards held the flap for her.
"Listen," Evelyne continued, sincerity smoothed to glass. "I know Seraphina's been overwhelmed with family obligations lately. Estate management, memorial services. She's barely had time to rest properly."
Seraphina's eyebrows rose. Was Evelyne providing cover story for her absences? Convenient or dangerous?
"I can stay and make sure you get proper care while she handles important family duties. Family comes first, after all."
Clever. She laid the excuse down like silk and no one stepped on a wrinkle.
"That's... actually thoughtful of you," came Alaric's voice, slurred from pain medication but carrying genuine gratitude. "I don't want to be a burden when she has pressing responsibilities."
"Of course not. You're such a considerate husband." Her voice hit every note she'd practiced in a mirror. "She's so fortunate to have someone who understands her obligations."
Then Alaric's voice came clearer, more intimate: "You always know exactly what I need."
Seraphina heard it. The loaded meaning. Knife twist of recognition cutting through her chest. Even stronger reason to leave immediately.
"Two minutes," she whispered to Caelan. "Then we vanish. If Evelyne mentions Vessant, I plant the illness cover and I'm gone by nightfall."
"Let her fuss over him," Seraphina murmured as Evelyne's voice drifted closer. "If he wants a devoted nurse, he can have the one he already chose."
They slipped out with practiced stealth. Canvas grit under her nails. Evelyne's voice carried clearly from Alaric's location. Sweet. Concerned. Practiced.
"You shouldn't be moving around yet. Let me check those bandages properly and make sure wounds are healing correctly."
Good. Let Evelyne fuss. Sera would use the quiet.
"Think this arrangement will work long-term?" Caelan asked quietly as they moved toward camp's edge.
"It has to," she said with grim determination. She looked back toward tents where Evelyne's concerned murmuring continued. "Because if it doesn't, we're all dead within a week."
Evelyne's voice carried like honey laced with poison. "My poor cousin... don't worry, I'll take care of you."
Seraphina froze. Perfect cover. Perfect trap.
And she just walked into camp.