Three weeks had passed since the claiming.
And though my body still warmed at the sound of his voice, though my nights remained wrapped in Vaerion's arms, something in the court had begun to shift. Not the bold, open hostility I had expected. No. This was quieter. Sharper.
A hundred glances. A thousand silences.
The way the nobles bowed—too slowly, or not at all. The way they addressed me with careful courtesy, then turned to each other with narrowed eyes and whispered words I couldn't hear.
They were waiting.
Waiting for me to fail. Waiting for me to fall.
Waiting for a crack in the bond that tethered me to their king.
And deep down, I feared they'd find it.
---
The day began as all others had lately—with fire.
Sereth had become my shadow, guiding my control sessions in the Hall of Flame. I could now shape fire into spheres and streams, twist it around my fingers like a ribbon. But today, she introduced something new.
Emotion-channeling.
"You cannot merely summon fire," she said. "You must command it. And that means confronting what feeds it."
I nodded.
She lit a small obsidian brazier in front of me and stepped back. "Focus on something that makes you feel powerless."
The image came too easily: the collar I once wore. The cold stone of the servant's quarters. The sound of nobles laughing while I scrubbed their shoes.
Flame roared upward, uncontrolled.
"Breathe!" Sereth snapped. "Don't react, reign."
I forced the fire down, sweat breaking across my skin.
"You see now," she said, softer. "You were taught to silence your pain. But power lives there. That pain is your weapon—if you master it."
I was still panting when a shadow fell across the room.
Vaerion.
He watched from the archway, silent and unreadable. But I felt the heat of his approval like a second sun. And for a moment, that was enough.
Until the message came.
---
It arrived with no name, no seal.
A scrap of dark vellum, slid beneath my chamber door.
"Tonight. Moon's third hour. The lower courtyard. Come alone if you would rule, not follow."
I stared at the words.
They pulsed with soft magic—illusionary ink, visible only under firelight. Whoever had sent it knew enough to bypass the palace wards, but not enough to confront me openly.
Or perhaps they were wise not to.
Still, the meaning was clear.
This was a test.
A temptation.
A trap.
I burned the note, letting its ash scatter into the wind.
And still—I knew I would go.
---
I told no one.
Not Sereth. Not the guards posted outside my chamber.
Not Vaerion.
The decision weighed heavy as I descended through the stone corridors, my steps silent, my breath tight. Guilt pressed in like a second skin, but beneath it was something colder.
Curiosity.
The lower courtyard was a place I had never seen—overgrown with ivy, long unused. Its fountains were dry, its torches unlit. The only light came from the twin moons overhead.
She waited for me there.
Velastra.
She was cloaked in red, her copper hair braided with black pearls. She did not look surprised to see me.
"I had faith you'd come," she said.
I didn't approach. "What do you want?"
She tilted her head. "To help you. Or perhaps to warn you. Depending on how clever you prove to be."
I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not here for riddles."
"No," she agreed. "You're here because you suspect what the others already know. That power won by lust can be lost by it, too."
Her words landed like ice.
"I love him," I said.
She smiled. "Yes. That's the danger."
I stepped closer, flames gathering behind my eyes. "Get to the point."
Velastra sighed, pacing slowly.
"You burn brightly now. But flames flicker. And Vaerion… he is feared because he is alone. Once the court believes he is no longer untouchable—once they believe you make him weak—they will strike."
"They wouldn't dare."
"They already are."
She produced a scroll from her sleeve and offered it. I hesitated, then snatched it and unrolled the parchment.
A map.
One of the palace.
With wards marked for sabotage. Guard rotations. Weak points in the flame barriers that protected the royal wing.
"This was intercepted from a traitor in my household," she said. "But it was written by one of yours."
I stared at her. "Why give it to me?"
"Because," she said, voice silk-wrapped steel, "you are either the next queen… or the next ruin. And I would rather stand beside a dragon than kneel before his ashes."
I looked up sharply. "You expect loyalty?"
"No. I expect you to understand that there are rules to this game. And you cannot rely on Vaerion to fight all your battles. Sooner or later, he will bleed."
She stepped back into the shadows.
"When he does… will you burn for him?"
And then she was gone.
---
I didn't sleep.
I returned to my chamber before dawn and sat by the fire, the map clenched in my hands.
I should have told Vaerion. Should have woken him. But the memory of Velastra's voice haunted me.
Sooner or later, he will bleed.
I couldn't protect him with fire alone.
So I studied the map.
Every path. Every weak point. Every sabotage marker.
And when the sun rose, I burned it to ash and memorized it all.
---
The attack came that night.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't violent.
It was silent.
Cunning.
The flames protecting the royal wing dimmed for only a moment—barely enough for notice.
But I felt it. The bond between us flickered. A faint tremor of warning.
I was out of bed and into the corridor in seconds.
The guards were slumped, unconscious—not dead. The air stank of sleeproot, strong enough to fell even dragonblood.
I summoned fire to my hands and stepped into the hall—
Only to be surrounded by four cloaked figures.
They wore the uniforms of palace staff. But the eyes beneath their hoods were gleaming. Cold.
"You shouldn't be awake," one of them said.
"You shouldn't be breathing," I replied—and unleashed my fire.
The first man screamed as flame engulfed his arm. The second threw a rune that shattered mid-air—countered by my shield. The third tried to flank me.
I spun and blasted him into the wall.
The fourth was faster. A dagger sliced my arm.
Pain burst, but the fire surged in response. I screamed, and my body lit up, golden flames racing over my skin.
The fire didn't stop at defense.
It hungered.
By the time Vaerion arrived—half-dressed, eyes blazing with terror—three of them were down.
The fourth knelt at my feet, whimpering, face burned.
I was panting, trembling.
And glowing.
Vaerion crossed the hall in a breath.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded.
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding—"
"I said I'm fine!"
He froze.
The man on the floor moaned.
Vaerion's eyes snapped to him.
"Who sent you?" he growled.
The man only sobbed.
Vaerion didn't ask again. He pressed two fingers to the traitor's brow and whispered a word.
The man screamed once—and died.
I didn't flinch.
Vaerion turned to me, hands bloodstained, face stricken.
"You should have told me."
"I had to prove I could face it. Alone."
"Why?" he demanded. "You're mine. You don't have to prove anything."
I looked at him—really looked.
The fire behind his eyes. The fear in them.
"Because they think I'm your weakness."
He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe.
"You're not my weakness," he whispered. "You're my edge. And I'll carve kingdoms with you."
---
We spent the rest of the night interrogating the court.
Vaerion summoned the council before dawn.
Three nobles were imprisoned. One vanished before they could be taken.
Velastra was not among them.
But she was watching.
Always watching.
---
The next day, Vaerion kissed the scar on my arm as though it was a jewel.
"You fought beautifully," he said.
"I was terrified."
"Good." He met my eyes. "Fear keeps the fire sharp."
I curled into his chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat steady mine.
And as the sun rose over the blackstone walls, I knew the truth of it:
The court no longer saw me as a servant.
They saw me as a storm.
And they had every reason to fear what I was becoming.