"Lord Vale has been summoned," Mara said, "to the palace dungeons."
The words landed like a boot to the chest.
My first instinct was to run.
My second instinct—stronger, colder—was to remember what running had cost me last time.
I stood anyway, chair scraping back. "We're going."
Kael didn't move from where he stood behind his desk. Ink still wet on the papers he'd been sealing. He looked up slowly, as if he'd expected this exact reaction.
"You're going," he corrected.
I clenched my jaw. "Then come with me."
"If I go, they win," Kael said. His voice was level, almost bored. "They'll drag you to the church and call it purification. They'll drag your father somewhere no one can see. And they'll smile while you're too busy screaming to notice where the knife really is."
My throat burned. "So I'm supposed to do nothing?"
Kael's gaze cut into me. "You're supposed to do the right thing, not the loud thing."
I hated him for sounding reasonable.
I hated myself for knowing he was right.
Mara stayed by the door, motionless, watching my face like she was measuring whether I would break.
Kael's eyes flicked to my ring. "That's your shield."
I lifted my hand without thinking. The black metal caught the lamplight. A simple circle that suddenly weighed as much as an empire.
Kael reached into a drawer and tossed something across the desk.
A silver whistle.
Small. Plain. The kind of object you'd ignore until you heard it in a nightmare.
"If you're seized," Kael said, "you blow this."
I caught it, fingers tight. "And you'll come."
His gaze didn't soften. "My men will."
I swallowed. "You're not coming."
"No," he said simply.
Anger flared hot in my chest. "You're leaving me to face Adrian alone."
Kael stepped closer until the air felt thin.
"I'm leaving you to face Adrian with something you didn't have before," he said. "A name that makes people hesitate. And a guard who breaks hands."
His eyes slid to Mara.
Mara's mouth didn't change, but I felt the promise in her stance.
Kael's voice lowered. "You want to save your father? Then you stop thinking like a girl who needs permission. You walk into the palace like you own the floor."
My nails dug into my palm. "And if they kill him before I get there?"
Kael's gaze went colder. "Then you learn who gave the order. And you kill them back."
The brutality of it made my stomach twist—because it sounded like truth, not threat.
I forced my breathing to steady. "Fine. Tell me what to do."
Kael didn't smile. He only turned, grabbed a cloak from a hook, and tossed it to me.
"Cover your hair," he ordered. "Keep your ring visible. Don't argue with guards—make them argue with paper. If someone tries to isolate you, you don't follow."
I pulled the cloak on, hands shaking.
Kael's gloved fingers caught my wrist for a brief moment as he adjusted the clasp. Efficient. Impersonal.
And still, it made my pulse jump like a traitor.
His voice dropped, near my ear. "Seraphina."
I looked up.
His eyes were winter-dark. "Do not die in a corridor."
I let out a tight breath that almost became a laugh. "Is that your way of wishing me luck?"
"No," he said. "It's an order."
Of course it was.
Mara moved first, opening the office door. Kael spoke over my shoulder as I followed.
"Bring her to the outer holding corridor," he said. "If you meet resistance, you leave survivors who can speak."
Mara nodded once. "Understood."
I paused at the threshold and looked back.
Kael had already turned away, already writing, already sealing.
A man who didn't waste motion on feelings.
A man who could hand me a ring and still look at me like a variable.
And yet—he was the only reason I wasn't in chains tonight.
I tightened my cloak and left.
---
The carriage ride was too short.
Not because the palace was close, but because fear eats time.
Mara sat opposite me, posture rigid, eyes scanning every street corner through the window slit.
I held the whistle in my palm so hard the metal warmed.
I tried to think like I had in my last life—when I still believed in kindness, in patience, in being reasonable.
Those instincts would get my father killed.
So I did what I should have done years ago.
I planned.
"Adrian is doing this to force my hand," I said quietly.
Mara didn't look at me. "Yes."
"He wants me in the temple at dawn," I continued, "because the accusation becomes 'official' in front of church witnesses."
"Yes."
"But he's taking my father *now*," I said, "because he thinks I'll panic."
Mara's jaw flexed once. "Yes."
I stared at her. "Do you ever say anything else?"
Mara finally glanced at me, flint eyes unreadable. "When it's necessary."
Fair.
I exhaled through my nose. "Then answer this. If they summoned him to the dungeons, does that mean the palace is holding him? Or the church?"
"Both," Mara said. "When predators share a meal, they don't fight until it's time to decide who gets the bones."
My stomach turned.
The carriage slowed, then turned sharply into a narrower street.
Mara leaned forward and rapped once on the roof.
The driver changed course again, avoiding the main palace gate.
Good.
If Adrian had guards waiting to "escort" me, they'd be waiting at the obvious entrance.
We stopped at an east service gate built into the palace's outer wall.
Two guards stood half-asleep beneath lanterns.
Mara stepped out first and approached them with a folded paper.
I followed, keeping my head slightly lowered, cloak shadowing my face—until we were close enough that my ring caught the light.
One guard squinted. "Who's that with you?"
Mara held up the paper. "Rivenhart."
The guard's eyes flicked to my hand.
He swallowed.
The other guard straightened fast enough to look guilty.
"Go on," the first muttered, suddenly eager to end the conversation.
The gate opened.
We slipped inside.
And just like that, we were in the belly of the beast.
The palace service corridors smelled like oil and stone and secrets. Narrow passages meant for servants and soldiers, not for noble daughters.
I'd been dragged through these corridors before.
In chains.
This time, I walked.
My steps didn't echo. The cloak softened them.
We passed a pair of servants carrying linens. They glanced up, saw my ring, and looked away too quickly.
Fear travels faster than gossip.
We descended two flights of stairs, then turned into a corridor where the lamps burned lower and the air tasted damp.
The dungeons.
My throat tightened.
I didn't allow myself to think of the execution chamber.
I didn't allow myself to think of poison.
I focused on what was in front of me: the outer holding corridor. The administrative barrier before the cells. A place where officials wrote names into ledgers and decided who counted as human.
A clerk in gray robes sat behind a narrow desk with a ledger open. He looked up, bored—
Then his eyes widened as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Lady Vale?" he whispered.
I lifted my chin. "Where is my father?"
His gaze darted toward Mara, then back to me. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "This—this area is restricted."
"By whose order?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
The clerk swallowed hard. "The crown—no, the church—there was a—"
"A request," I finished. "From the temple."
The clerk's eyes flickered left, toward a door at the end of the corridor.
Two men in white stood there.
Temple knights.
My stomach dropped. Of course.
I put a hand on the desk, fingers splayed. "Write my name in your ledger."
The clerk blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," I said. "Write it. Seraphina Vale, here to see Lord Vale. And write that I invoked House Rivenhart's protection."
His hands shook as he dipped the pen. "I—I can't—"
Mara leaned in, voice quiet and lethal. "You can. Or you can explain to the duke why you refused."
The clerk's face went pale.
He wrote.
I watched the ink form my name like an anchor. A small thing. But ink becomes law when it's witnessed.
The temple knights at the end of the corridor began to move.
One stepped forward, his boots too clean for a place like this.
"Lady Vale," he called smoothly. "How considerate of you to come."
My blood chilled.
He wasn't surprised.
He'd been waiting.
"I'm here for my father," I said.
The knight's smile widened as if he enjoyed the simplicity. "He is being questioned."
"By the palace," I said sharply. "Or by the church?"
"By those who protect the empire," he replied.
The lie was so polished it almost sounded holy.
Mara shifted slightly, blocking my right side.
I didn't move behind her. I wouldn't give them the picture they wanted.
"Take me to him," I said.
The knight tilted his head. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you come willingly," he said, "when you are summoned."
Summoned.
At dawn.
The trap's teeth gleamed.
I let my expression harden. "You don't get to bargain with me using my father."
The knight's smile didn't fade. "We do. We already are."
The door behind him opened.
And my father was dragged out.
His hands were bound. His noble coat was torn at the shoulder. A bruise darkened his cheekbone.
He looked older than he should have. Not from years.
From one night of pressure.
My chest tightened so hard I could barely inhale.
"Father," I whispered.
His head lifted.
His eyes met mine.
Relief flashed first. Then fear. Then a desperate, aching shame.
"Seraphina," he rasped. "Don't—"
A temple knight leaned in and murmured something into his ear.
My father flinched.
The knight straightened and looked at me with a saint's smile. "We will release him," he said, "if you come with us."
My nails dug into my palm beneath the cloak. "No."
The knight's smile turned sympathetic, like he was pitying a stubborn child. "Then he goes downstairs."
Downstairs.
Where no ledgers are written.
Where screams don't count.
Mara's hand slid beneath her cloak.
I lifted my ringed hand deliberately. "He is a noble under imperial law. You cannot take him without an imperial warrant."
The knight's gaze flicked to my ring, then back to my face. His voice remained soft. "The church does not need imperial permission to cleanse corruption."
"And the palace does not need the church to hold nobles," I shot back. "So which authority are you using tonight?"
The knight's smile tightened.
Behind me, the clerk made a small, choked sound, as if he'd realized he was now witnessing something he couldn't pretend he didn't see.
Good.
Let him witness.
I took a step forward, closer to my father. "Let me speak to him."
The knight lifted a hand. "No."
"Then you'll explain to Duke Rivenhart why you denied his intended a final word with her father," Mara said, voice flat.
The knight's eyes sharpened.
For the first time, his calm slipped.
"Duke Rivenhart has no authority here," he snapped.
"Oh?" I said softly. "Then why are you watching his ring like it's a blade at your throat?"
The knight's jaw clenched.
He was about to speak—
And I saw it.
A tiny glint high on the left, where the corridor bent into a narrow service passage.
Metal catching lamplight.
Not a sword.
Something smaller.
A bolt tip.
My blood turned to ice.
In my last life, my father's "accident" had been neat. Quiet. No witnesses.
This time, they were doing it in front of me.
So they could blame me.
I moved without thinking.
I grabbed my father's bound arms and yanked him down and to the side.
A whistle of air cut past my ear.
A bolt slammed into the chest of the temple knight standing nearest the door.
For half a heartbeat, no one understood what had happened.
Then the knight staggered, eyes wide.
Foam bubbled at his lips.
Poison.
He dropped to his knees with a wet, choking sound.
Screams exploded down the corridor.
The clerk knocked his chair over trying to stand.
Palace guards—drawn by the noise—shouted from the stairwell.
The temple knights surged forward, hands on swords.
Mara moved like a shadow, putting herself between me and the blades.
I stared at the dying knight, bile rising in my throat.
They'd tried to murder him.
No—worse.
They'd tried to murder my father and hit the wrong target because I'd moved.
Or they'd aimed at the knight on purpose to create chaos.
Either way, the outcome was the same.
They had their scene.
The surviving temple knight spun on me, eyes blazing. "Witch!"
"I didn't shoot him!" I snapped. "Someone tried to kill my father!"
"Silence," he snarled, voice rising. "She moves like a demon. She—"
"Enough," Mara said, and her tone made even the shouting guards pause.
She stepped forward, cloak shifting, and for the first time I saw the hilt of a short blade at her hip.
The temple knight's eyes flicked to it. "You dare threaten the church?"
Mara's voice was bored. "I dare breathe."
I forced myself to focus. Evidence. Mechanism. Witnesses.
I crouched, ignoring the bile in my throat, and grabbed the fallen bolt from the floor before someone could kick it away.
The shaft was dark wood.
The fletching was white.
And stamped faintly near the base was a tiny sunburst.
Church mark.
My fingers tightened until my knuckles hurt.
I lifted it high so the arriving palace guards could see.
"Look," I said loudly. "This bolt bears the church mark. Someone here tried to assassinate Lord Vale!"
The guards hesitated, eyes darting between the dying temple knight, the bolt in my hand, and the white-robed men standing too confidently in a palace corridor.
The temple knight's expression shifted—just for a heartbeat.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of being caught.
And then, like a knife slipping into the exact moment of weakness, a familiar voice drifted from behind the palace guards.
"My, my," Prince Adrian drawled. "Seraphina. You really can't go anywhere without blood."
The corridor seemed to tighten.
The guards parted instinctively.
Adrian walked in as if he owned the air. Perfect uniform. Perfect calm. Perfect contempt.
Liora clung to his arm, cheeks pale, eyes bright with practiced distress.
Behind them strode the thin-faced priest from last night, his sunburst ring gleaming.
My stomach turned.
They'd timed it.
They'd waited for the bolt to fall.
They wanted Adrian to arrive at the peak of chaos, like a hero stepping into a monster's lair.
Adrian's gaze slid over me, the bolt in my hand, my father on his knees, Mara poised like a weapon.
His lips curved. "What a scene you've made."
I lifted the bolt higher. "Someone tried to kill my father."
Adrian's eyes flicked to it, then away, uninterested. "And yet a holy knight lies dying at your feet."
The thin-faced priest stepped forward, voice smooth. "This is exactly what we feared. Demon influence creates violence. Disorder. Unnatural speed."
Liora's eyes filled with tears. "Sera… please. Please stop. You're hurting people."
I stared at her.
She was looking at me like I was an animal to be put down gently.
My throat burned. "You don't get to say my name."
Adrian sighed like I'd disappointed him. "You always did have a talent for embarrassing yourself."
He lifted a sealed scroll.
Red wax.
Imperial.
My blood chilled.
"By order of the crown," Adrian said, voice carrying down the corridor, "Seraphina Vale is to be detained for immediate examination under suspicion of demon pact, attempted murder, and treasonous collusion—"
My father jerked as if struck.
"No," he rasped. "She didn't—"
A temple knight slammed a hand onto my father's shoulder, forcing him back down.
Adrian's gaze didn't even flicker at the cruelty. He looked only at me.
"You can make this easy," he said, soft enough to sound merciful. "Come quietly. Confess. And perhaps your father won't suffer for your… sickness."
My vision sharpened.
There it was.
Leverage.
Exactly as Kael said.
Liora stepped closer, tears shimmering. "Sera, please. If you just tell the truth, the church can help you. Adrian can forgive you. Father can go home."
Father can go home.
The words were honey poured over poison.
I looked at my father.
His bruised face. His shaking hands. His eyes begging me not to fold.
He'd never begged me for anything in my life.
He was begging now without words: *Don't let them use me to break you.*
My lungs felt too small.
I forced myself to speak clearly, loudly, for the guards and the clerk and every witness this corridor could hold.
"I will not go anywhere," I said, "without a written warrant presented to the dungeon registry and recorded—"
Adrian's smile sharpened. "Recorded? Seraphina, you think ink will save you?"
The priest lifted his ringed hand, pointing directly at my chest. "See? Defiance. A demon's pride."
Adrian's eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. "Last chance."
He leaned slightly toward my father, voice turning intimate and cruel.
"Lord Vale," he said, "tell your daughter what happens when she refuses the church."
My father's shoulders shook.
Slowly, as if each movement tore him apart, he lifted his head.
His gaze met mine.
And in his eyes I saw it.
Fear wasn't the worst thing in the room.
The worst thing was the decision they were forcing him to make.
His lips parted.
"Seraphina," he whispered, voice breaking, "forgive me…"
Then he turned his head toward Adrian and the priest—
And he began to speak the words that would condemn me.