After breakfast, Seraphina walked through the palace gardens, trailing her fingers along the blooming thornroses. She used to love these flowers—soft petals, cruel thorns. Now they felt like a prophecy.
Behind her, footsteps crunched on gravel.
"I thought you'd be in the library," said a voice she hadn't heard in years.
She turned.
Elric Vael.
A quiet knight-in-training. Son of a disgraced noble. He'd once served her loyally… and died protecting her at the palace gates.
He was still alive now. Still young. Still unsure of his place.
"Lady Seraphina," he bowed.
She stepped closer, heart twisting. "You're early."
He blinked. "I didn't have an appointment, Your Grace."
"No," she said softly. "But fate has given me one."
His brows furrowed. "Is something wrong?"
"Not yet," she said, then glanced behind him. "But shadows are moving."
He stiffened. "Should I inform your guards?"
"No," she whispered. "But I may need you… soon. If I call on you, will you come?"
Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee. "Always."
That simple word—it almost undid her. But there was no time for softness. Not yet.
---
Back inside, Seraphina approached her father's private study. The guards tried to stop her, but she raised a hand.
"I have urgent matters for the King."
"The King is unwell—"
"I know," she said. "That's why he needs to hear what I have to say."
With a confidence that startled even them, she pushed open the doors.
Her father, King Aldric Ashvale, lay on his chair—pale, sweating. The poison was already working. He didn't know.
But she did.
"Father," she said, kneeling before him. "You're being killed slowly. And I know who's behind it."
He blinked at her. "Seraphina… what nonsense—"
"I need your ring," she said calmly. "The one you wear in secret—the signet only true heirs know of. I need it now, before they take everything."
His eyes widened.
"Who… are you?"
She rose slowly, fire in her voice. "Your daughter. Reborn."