Aria's POV
A guard's hand slams into my chest, stopping me at the entrance.
"Servants use the back door," he sneers, looking at my borrowed dress like it's covered in mud.
"She's with me," Celeste says coldly, appearing beside us. She doesn't look at me. "She'll stand in the servant's section. Come, girl."
The guard steps aside, but not before spitting near my feet.
I follow Celeste through the golden doors, and the Sacred Sanctum steals my breath—not because it's beautiful, but because it feels wrong. The air is too hot, pressing against my skin like invisible hands. That burning sensation on my chest grows stronger, the hidden mark beneath my dress pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Something here recognizes me.
Or I recognize it.
Thousands of noble ladies fill the massive hall, their silk gowns shimmering in colors I don't have names for. They laugh and whisper, comparing jewelry that could feed the Ashen Outskirts for a year. I feel their eyes on me as I pass—the girl in the simple blue dress, so obviously out of place.
"There," Celeste hisses, pointing to a dark corner near the back wall. "Stand there. Don't move. Don't speak. And for heaven's sake, don't draw attention to yourself."
She vanishes into the crowd before I can respond.
I press myself against the cold stone wall, trying to become invisible. From here, I can see everything but belong to nothing. The altar dominates the center of the sanctum—a massive platform of white stone with flames dancing across its surface. They're not normal flames. They shift between gold and red and something else, something that hurts to look at directly.
But it's what's behind the altar that makes my stomach twist.
Phoenixes. Real, living phoenixes.
Five of them, chained to golden posts. They should be magnificent—I've seen pictures in old books, creatures of fire and light and freedom. But these... these are wrong. Their feathers are dull, their wings drooping. Heavy chains circle their necks and legs, covered in strange symbols that glow with sick green light.
And their eyes.
Their eyes are dead.
No—not dead. Dying. Slowly, painfully dying while being kept alive.
The burning on my chest flares so hot I gasp. One of the phoenixes—the smallest one with silver-tipped feathers—turns its head and looks directly at me. Through the crowd, through the distance, our eyes meet.
Help us, something whispers in my mind. Not words exactly. More like a feeling, desperate and ancient. Please. Help us.
I stumble back against the wall, my hand clutching my chest. What was that? Did I imagine—
"Welcome, daughters of Eldrath!" A woman's voice echoes through the sanctum, silencing the crowd. High Priestess Seraphine glides to the altar, her silver hair gleaming, her white robes perfect. She's beautiful in a cold, sharp way—like a knife made of ice. "Today, the divine phoenix fire will choose our next queen. The worthy will be blessed. The unworthy will be revealed."
The crowd murmurs with excitement.
"As tradition dictates, each noble daughter will approach the sacred flames. The fire will test your heart, your blood, your soul. Only one will be chosen. Only one is worthy."
Seraphine's eyes sweep the crowd, and for just a second, they land on me. Her perfect smile falters. Something like fear flashes across her face.
Then it's gone, and she's gesturing to the first girl. "Come, Lady Helena. Let the fire judge you."
A girl in a red dress approaches the altar, her chin high, her steps confident. She reaches toward the flames—
Nothing happens.
The fire doesn't react at all. It just keeps burning, cold and distant.
Lady Helena's face crumbles. She backs away, tears streaming down her cheeks. The crowd whispers, some sympathetic, most cruel.
"Next," Seraphine calls, her voice flat.
Another girl approaches. Nothing.
Another. Nothing.
Another. The fire stays cold and dead to them all.
I watch from my corner as girl after girl fails. Some cry. Some rage. One girl screams that the fire must be broken, that she's from the purest bloodline in Eldrath, how dare the flames reject her?
Guards escort her out.
The chained phoenixes behind the altar shiver with each rejection. I can feel their pain through that strange connection, growing stronger with every passing moment. The symbols on their chains glow brighter, pulling something from them, feeding it into the altar.
They're not just chained. They're being drained.
The fire isn't choosing anyone because the fire isn't free. It's trapped, controlled, forced to obey—
"Aria."
Dorian's voice behind me makes me jump. I spin around, and there he is, with Lyanna on his arm. They're both smiling, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"I wanted to explain," he says quietly. "Before you heard it from someone else."
My throat is too tight to speak.
"You're a sweet girl," he continues, and each word is a knife. "But you have to understand—I have responsibilities. A future. Lyanna can give me connections, status, a real life. You..." He trails off, shrugging.
"You used me," I whisper.
"I was kind to you," he corrects. "There's a difference. I'm sorry if you thought it meant more."
Lyanna presses closer to him, her hand on his chest—the same gesture I used to dream about. "No hard feelings, Aria. You'll find someone appropriate for your... level."
They walk away, laughing softly together.
The burning on my chest explodes into pain so intense I can't breathe. The mark beneath my dress feels like it's trying to claw through my skin. Tears blur my vision. I need to get out. Need to leave. Need to—
I push away from the wall and stumble forward, not looking where I'm going. The crowd parts around me. Someone gasps. Someone else laughs—look at the crying servant girl, how pathetic.
I just need to reach the door. Just need to—
My foot catches on something. I fall forward, arms pinwheeling.
Straight toward the altar.
Straight toward the sacred flames.
"NO!" Seraphine's scream cuts through the sanctum. "STOP HER!"
But it's too late.
I crash into the altar, my hands plunging into the fire.
It should burn. Should kill me instantly.
Instead, the flames wrap around my wrists like living silk, warm and welcoming and right. The mark on my chest erupts with golden light, shining through my dress. The fire roars to life, exploding upward in a pillar of gold and crimson that touches the crystal ceiling.
Power floods through me—ancient, pure, furious power that's been trapped for so long it forgot what freedom tasted like.
The chained phoenixes behind the altar scream in harmony, their dead eyes suddenly blazing with light.
And somewhere far away, three hundred miles distant in a prison of black stone, something ancient and terrible opens its eyes.
The mark over my heart burns brighter, brighter, forming a symbol I've never seen before—a phoenix with wings spread, crowned in flames.
The entire sanctum falls silent.
Then Seraphine's voice, shaking with rage and terror: "Impossible. The fire has chosen... a commoner."
The flames around my hands pulse once, twice.
Then they brand themselves into my skin, marking me permanently.
The Sacred Sanctum explodes with screaming.
But all I can hear is the voice in my head—ancient, male, and seething with three centuries of rage:
Finally. After all this time... I'm coming for you, little bride. And when I arrive, we'll see if you're my salvation or my revenge.
The world tilts.
The last thing I see before everything goes black is the chained phoenixes breaking free, their chains shattering one by one.
And in the distance, thunder rolls across a clear sky.
He's coming.