The corridors outside the council chamber felt colder than the hall itself. Sophie pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she walked, the echo of boots and whispers trailing after her like ghosts.
Eira hurried to her side, her face pale, her eyes sharp. "You shouldn't have been in there," she whispered fiercely. "Not with men like Draven circling like hawks."
Sophie tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin. "You think I don't know that? Every look at that table felt like a knife at my throat."
Eira glanced around, lowering her voice. "And yet the king made you sit there. Right beside him. That wasn't protection—it was provocation. He wanted them to see you."
Sophie stopped, staring at the flickering torchlight on the stone wall. She wanted to deny it, to say Alexander had defended her because he cared—but her chest felt too tight. Why did he do it? To shield her? To use her? Or to claim her like some pawn on his board?
"I don't understand him," Sophie admitted softly. "One moment he's saving me. The next, I feel like I'm chained to him, whether I like it or not."
Eira touched her arm gently. "That's because he is both. Shield and chain. You have to decide which one will crush you first."
Sophie opened her mouth to answer, but a sound carried down the corridor—a sharp scrape, like a boot against stone. She froze.
Eira heard it too. Her hand flew to Sophie's wrist, tugging her forward. "Come. Not here."
They slipped through a narrow servants' passage, the torches dimmer, the air heavy with dust and old cobwebs. Only when they'd gone far enough that the noises of the court faded did Eira finally speak again.
"Draven won't let this go," she said grimly. "He's dangerous in the open, but worse in the dark. He'll strike where the king's eyes can't follow."
Sophie pressed her back against the wall, breathing hard. Her thoughts were a storm—Alexander's hand brushing hers under the council table, Draven's eyes glittering with promises of ruin, her own silence that felt like cowardice.
"What do I do, Eira?" Sophie whispered. "If I fight him, I risk the king's wrath. If I hide, Draven will find another way to cut me down. I'm trapped."
Eira didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at Sophie with something like pity. "Then you'll have to learn to fight in the shadows, the way they do."
That night, Sophie sat in her chambers long after the candles had burned low. She stared at the mural she and Eira had discovered in the east wing, its memory carved too sharply in her mind. Seraphina's face. The prophecy. The whispers that clung to her like chains.
And Alexander's voice, echoing still: She is under my protection. Any man who threatens her, threatens me.
Her heart betrayed her, quickening at the memory. But her head whispered warnings: protection could turn into possession. And possession into ruin.
When the knock came at her door, she jumped so hard she nearly spilled her inkpot.
"Who is it?" she called, too sharp.
Silence. Then, softly: "It is I."
Alexander.
Her pulse leapt. She hesitated, hand hovering over the latch. Opening the door felt like opening herself to fire. But refusing him felt worse.
She cracked it just enough to see him standing there, his figure cast in shadow, his eyes catching the torchlight like steel.
"May I come in?" he asked, voice calm, but something in it carried weight. Not a request. Not really.
Sophie stepped back. "If I say no, will it matter?"
A flicker touched his mouth—half a smile, half nothing at all. He entered, the air of the room shifting with him, heavier, tighter.
He didn't sit. He didn't remove his cloak. He just looked at her, the silence stretching until she almost screamed.
Finally, he said, "Draven will move against you. Tonight proved that."
Sophie's throat tightened. "Then why put me there? Why give him the opening?"
His gaze pinned her. "Because if he was going to bare his fangs, I wanted them aimed at me, not at your back."
Her breath caught. That sounded like protection—but it could just as easily be strategy.
She shook her head. "You play games with lives, Alexander. Mine included."
His jaw clenched. "You think I don't know the weight of lives? You think I haven't lost enough to understand the cost?" He stepped closer, shadows clinging to him like armor. "I won't let Draven take you. Not because you're useful. Not because of prophecy. But because you are mine to protect."
The word—mine—hit her like a blow. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, her breath stuttering, her heart betraying her again.
Sophie looked away, forcing air into her lungs. "Chains and shields," she muttered bitterly. "You're both, Alexander. And I don't know which one will strangle me first."
For a moment, silence. Then his hand brushed the doorframe as he turned to leave, his voice low. "Then you'll have to decide if the chains are worth the shield."
And just like that, he was gone.
Sophie sank to the edge of her bed, her hands trembling. Somewhere in the shadows of the palace, she knew Draven was smiling, planning his next move. And she feared the king's warning might not be enough to keep her alive.