Kael tore the parchment into pieces as if it were nothing more than an irritating receipt.
Once.
Twice.
Again—until the demon circle and my name were shredded into black confetti.
For a heartbeat, I just stared at his hands.
In my last life, those hands had offered me poison. Calm. Unshaking. Final.
Now they were destroying the proof meant to kill me *before it could breathe*.
It should have felt like relief.
It felt like standing on thin ice and realizing the lake beneath me was deeper than I'd ever imagined.
"It doesn't matter if you tear it," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "They'll say they found it. They'll have witnesses. Copies. A priest's word is heavier than mine."
Kael didn't look up. "A priest's word is only heavy because fools carry it."
He handed the shreds to Mara without turning.
Mara—braided hair, flint eyes—caught them neatly. Not a flicker of curiosity. Not a hint of pity.
"Burn," Kael said. "No ash left."
Mara nodded once and vanished down the corridor like a blade slipping back into its sheath.
I swallowed hard, watching her go. "She's loyal."
"She's useful," Kael corrected, already turning away from the front hall and deeper into the estate. "Loyalty is a story people tell themselves."
I followed him, cloak gathered tight in my fists, my pulse still too fast.
Rivenhart Estate wasn't a palace. It wasn't trying to charm anyone. It was a fortress built by someone who expected betrayal the way ordinary people expected weather.
Black stone. Narrow windows. Lanterns burning pale and steady, like patient eyes.
Servants moved soundlessly with lowered gazes, as if noise itself would invite punishment.
And yet… no one crossed themselves at the sight of me.
No one whispered demon under their breath.
No one looked at my wine-stained humiliation and smiled.
Here, I was simply a problem that had arrived.
Kael led me into a side room that wasn't meant for guests.
It was an office.
Maps covered one wall—trade roads, river crossings, palace routes marked in red ink. A heavy desk sat in front of a tall mirror, and shelves were packed with ledgers and sealed documents.
Everything had a place.
Everything looked controlled.
Kael gestured to a chair opposite the desk. "Sit."
I sat, spine straight, refusing to sink into the softness like a frightened girl.
He didn't sit.
Of course he didn't.
He remained standing, arms folded, gaze fixed on me with the same professional cold I remembered from the dungeon.
My bandaged palm throbbed under the cloth.
"You're going to tell me what you know," he said. "Not what you feel. Not what you hope. Facts."
My mouth tightened. "I know they planted that in my room."
Kael's head tilted. "How?"
"Because I wasn't there," I snapped, then steadied myself. Anger would only feed him the weakness he expected. "Because the ink was fresh. And because the pattern matches how they destroyed me before."
His eyes narrowed slightly at the word *before*.
I didn't look away.
If he wanted to call me mad, let him. Madness had kept me alive tonight.
"Explain," he said.
I forced myself to breathe through my ribs and spoke quickly, cleanly—like giving testimony.
"In my last life, the first 'proof' was a letter and a sigil. They claimed it was hidden in my room. They said the ink reacted to my blood—so they forced me to sign a confession, then used my blood as 'confirmation.'"
Kael's gaze didn't leave my face. "Who presented it?"
"The church," I answered. "But it served Adrian. Always Adrian. He stood beside them and acted like he was trapped by duty while he watched me drown."
A flicker crossed Kael's eyes—too fast to name.
Then it vanished under ice.
"And your stepsister?" he asked.
My stomach clenched. "Liora cried. She begged me to confess. She offered to 'save' me if I admitted everything. She made herself look like a saint beside my 'corruption.'"
Kael's voice was flat. "She benefits."
"Yes," I said. "She marries him. She takes my place. She takes my family's money, influence—everything."
Kael's gaze dropped, not to my face, but to my bandaged palm.
"To your blood," he murmured.
The words chilled me.
I swallowed. "What do you mean?"
He lifted his eyes again. "A demon pact accusation is a convenient blade. But it's not the point. It's the wrapping."
My pulse stumbled. "Then what's the point?"
Kael didn't answer directly. He reached for a bell on the desk and rang it once.
A servant appeared instantly, head bowed.
Kael spoke without looking away from me. "Bring a training blade. And a ring."
The servant nodded and retreated.
I stared at Kael. "A ring?"
His mouth didn't move. "You wanted to be my fiancée in public. You'll look like it in private too."
Heat rose in my throat—humiliation, fury, and something I refused to name.
"I'm not a doll you can dress up," I said.
Kael's gaze held mine, unblinking. "No. You're bait. Dress accordingly."
The bluntness hit like a slap.
My nails bit into my palms. "I'm not your bait."
Kael's expression didn't change. "Then stop acting like prey."
Silence snapped between us, thin and dangerous.
I forced myself to speak calmly. "If you're using me, at least be honest about why."
Kael's eyes remained cold. "You're already honest about why you came to me. You need power you can't build overnight."
I hated how accurately he said it.
"And you," I said softly, "need something from me."
Kael didn't deny it. "Information. Instinct. Whatever made you walk straight to me instead of begging the prince."
My throat tightened.
Because he was right again.
I didn't just run to him out of desperation.
I ran to him because I knew Adrian could control the palace.
He couldn't control Kael.
The servant returned with a narrow box and a velvet pouch.
Kael opened the box and revealed a slim dagger—more needle than blade, built for speed and pain rather than grandeur.
He set it on the desk.
Then he opened the velvet pouch and tipped a ring into his palm.
Black metal, smooth, with a single thin silver line carved around it.
Simple.
And terrifying.
My gaze stuck to it.
Kael placed it on the desk between us like a chess piece. "This ring is recognized at court. It marks you under my protection."
"Protection," I echoed. "Or ownership?"
Kael's eyes didn't soften. "In this empire, they're the same thing."
I didn't like that he was right.
He slid the dagger toward me. "Stand."
I rose, heart hammering.
He gestured to the mirror on the wall. "Face it."
I obeyed, refusing to show fear. If I was going to survive, I couldn't afford to flinch every time a man gave me an order.
Behind me, Kael's voice was calm. "Hold the blade."
I wrapped my fingers around the training dagger.
My grip was wrong—too tight, too tense. My wrist shook.
Kael moved close enough that the air turned colder.
Then his gloved hand covered mine.
He adjusted my fingers with unhurried precision, one by one.
"Loosen," he said. "If your hand locks, your wrist breaks."
My breath caught. His touch was cold through leather, but my skin still reacted like it was being branded.
I hated my body for noticing.
I hated myself for not stepping away.
Kael didn't linger. He corrected my stance with a firm pressure against my shoulder blade. "Feet apart. One forward. You're not dancing."
A bitter laugh slipped out. "Tonight I was."
Kael's hand paused for the briefest moment.
Then he stepped back, leaving distance like a wall.
"Again," he said.
I practiced the twist he demonstrated—rotate the wrist, turn the blade inward, strike the soft part of an attacker's arm.
It was ugly. It wasn't elegant.
It was survival.
My wrist screamed.
I did it again.
Kael watched silently, only interrupting to correct with a single word—"Lower." "Faster." "Don't telegraph."
Sweat dampened my palms beneath the bandage.
My lungs burned.
And beneath the burn, a cruel clarity formed:
In my last life, I'd spent years learning how to smile and endure.
How to be liked.
How to be chosen.
None of it had saved me.
This—pain, control, action—might.
I lowered the blade, breathing hard. "Training won't stop them from dragging me to the temple at dawn."
Kael's gaze lifted. "It will stop you from dying quietly when they try."
My stomach churned. "You think they'll attack me physically."
Kael's mouth curved slightly, not kind. "They already have. With paper."
I stared at him through the mirror. "Then what's your plan?"
Kael walked to the desk and picked up a sealed letter. White wax.
The sunburst seal.
Church authority.
He tossed it onto the desk.
"I intercepted this," he said. "It's meant for me."
My throat tightened. "From who?"
Kael's gaze was flat. "Someone inside the temple."
An informant.
So he wasn't merely reacting.
He was already inside the web.
My pulse jumped. "You've been watching them."
"Yes," he said simply.
I swallowed. "Then you knew they'd come for a scapegoat."
Kael's eyes held mine. "I knew they'd come for *someone*. I didn't know you'd hand them your throat in public."
My jaw clenched. "I didn't hand them anything. I refused to kneel."
Kael stepped closer, stopping beside the desk. "And it forced their hand. Good."
Good.
He said it like he approved of the chaos.
Like he wanted the enemy to move faster.
My stomach turned. "You're enjoying this."
Kael didn't answer.
He slid the letter toward me. "Open it."
My fingers trembled as I broke the white wax seal.
The paper inside held one line in precise script:
**THE HIGH INQUISITOR REQUESTS LADY VALE'S PRESENCE AT DAWN. BRING THE DUKE—ALONE.**
My blood chilled.
Bring the Duke—alone.
A neat little knife hidden under polite words.
I lifted my gaze to Kael. "They want to separate us."
"Yes," he said.
"And if you go alone, they'll accuse you of protecting a demon. If you don't go, they'll declare you guilty by association."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly, as if pleased by the speed of my reasoning. "You learn."
I hated that the approval warmed something in my chest.
I tightened my grip on the paper. "So what do we do?"
Kael's gaze slid to the ring on the desk. "We make them choke on their own accusation."
I stared at the ring.
My mind raced.
A public engagement could block the church from taking me without consequence.
But the church didn't care about consequence when it wanted blood.
Kael's voice cut through my thoughts. "Put it on."
I hesitated.
Not because I didn't understand strategy.
Because the act felt too final.
In my last life, rings had meant love and promise.
This ring meant a cage—only gilded in power.
Kael watched me without impatience. He didn't coax. He didn't soften. He waited like a man confident the world would bend.
I picked up the ring.
The metal was cold enough to bite.
I slid it onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
My throat tightened. "You prepared this."
Kael didn't deny it. "I keep tools."
"Am I a tool?" I asked before I could stop myself.
A beat of silence.
Kael's gaze held mine through the mirror. "Everyone is a tool. The smart ones choose whose hand holds them."
The words landed heavy.
Not romantic.
Not kind.
But true in a way my last life had refused to accept.
I looked at my reflection: the duke's ring on my hand, the training blade in my grip, my posture straighter than it had been at the ball.
A weak girl in a strong man's house.
A pawn trying to become a knife.
Kael stepped behind me again, not touching this time. His voice was low. "At dawn, you will stand at my side. You will not speak unless I allow it."
My spine stiffened. "They'll provoke me."
"They'll try," Kael said. "Your prince will want you to break in public."
My stomach tightened. "He's not my prince."
Kael's gaze flicked, as if amused by the heat in my voice. "Not anymore."
I swallowed and forced my tone cool. "What will you do at the temple?"
Kael's answer was immediate. "Watch who shows up. Listen to what they accuse you of. Measure which lies they prepared."
"And if they try to take me anyway?"
Kael's voice turned very quiet. "Then the temple learns what it means to touch something under my protection."
A shiver ran up my spine.
Not fear.
Not entirely.
I turned slightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "You're willing to fight the church."
Kael's eyes were flat as winter water. "The church fights everyone. It just pretends it doesn't."
My pulse thudded. "And Adrian fights through them."
"Yes," Kael said.
I lowered the dagger slowly. "Then this isn't only about me."
Kael didn't answer—he didn't have to.
His silence confirmed it: he'd been waiting for the church to expose itself.
And I'd given him the perfect excuse.
Anger flared, bright and sick. "So you'll use me to drag them into the open."
Kael stepped closer, and for the first time, I felt the full weight of him—danger contained behind discipline.
"Use?" he repeated softly.
His gloved hand lifted—not to touch me, but to tap the ring on my finger once with a knuckle.
A small sound.
A heavy promise.
"You came to me," he said. "You chose this. If you regret it, say so now."
My mouth went dry.
Regret meant death.
Regret meant going back to Adrian with bowed head and pleading eyes.
I stared at my reflection.
Wine-stained humiliation still clung to my memory like a stink I couldn't wash away.
I thought of Liora's perfect tears.
Adrian's smile.
The goblet.
The poison burning down my throat.
I met Kael's gaze through the mirror and forced the truth out.
"I don't regret it," I said. "I just want to be sure I'm the one holding the knife too."
For the briefest moment, something in Kael's eyes shifted—approval, maybe, or recognition.
Then it cooled again.
"Good," he said. "Then learn."
He nodded toward the dagger. "Again."
I practiced until my wrist trembled and my lungs ached.
When I finally lowered the blade, my bandage had darkened with sweat, and the ring felt heavier than before.
Outside, somewhere beyond the fortress walls, the city was waking.
Beyond the city, the palace was sharpening its claws.
Kael moved back to the desk and began writing—fast, controlled strokes. Seals. Orders.
He didn't look up as he spoke. "Your father."
My head snapped up. "What about him?"
Kael's pen didn't stop. "He'll be targeted next. They always go for leverage."
My throat tightened. "They wouldn't—"
Kael's voice was flat. "They would."
The certainty in it turned my stomach.
I took a step forward. "Kael—"
A knock cut through the room.
Hard. Urgent.
Mara entered without waiting, face tighter than before. The air around her felt wrong—like a wire pulled too taut.
"My Lord," she said. "A messenger at the gate."
Kael didn't look up. "From where?"
Mara's gaze flicked to me.
"House Vale," she said.
My heart stumbled. "From my father?"
Mara's jaw tightened. "From the palace."
Kael finally lifted his eyes. "Speak."
Mara's voice dropped, clipped and deadly calm.
"Lord Vale has been summoned," she said, "to the palace dungeons."
My blood went cold.
"Now," Mara added. "Not at dawn."
And in the silence that followed, I understood with awful clarity:
They weren't waiting to break me at the temple.
They were breaking my father first—so they could hand me his shattered pieces as a choice.