"Seraphina," my father whispered, voice breaking, "forgive me…"
The corridor seemed to shrink until there was no air left in it.
His eyes—usually so steady, so proud—were wet with a helplessness I'd never seen. His bound hands shook. The bruise on his cheek was already swelling, purple and ugly against skin that had aged ten years in a single night.
Prince Adrian watched him like a man watching a gate slowly open.
Lady Liora clung to Adrian's arm, her lashes glittering with tears, her mouth trembling in practiced grief. The thin-faced priest stood behind them, ring raised, waiting to brand my father's words as "truth."
The temple knight at my father's shoulder dug fingers into him hard enough to hurt. A silent reminder: speak, or you'll go downstairs.
My father's throat worked. He drew breath.
I moved before he could destroy me.
"Stop."
My voice cracked through the corridor like a whip.
Everyone froze—guards, clerk, even the shouting palace soldiers in the stairwell.
My father flinched at my tone, shame flashing across his face like a wound.
I stepped forward, deliberately placing myself between him and Adrian's gaze.
"Father," I said, quieter now, fierce enough to anchor him, "don't confess to something you don't understand."
The temple knight's hand tightened on my father's shoulder.
The priest's lips curved. "How touching. The demon encourages deceit."
"I'm not confessing," my father rasped, eyes on the floor.
"Then what were you about to say?" Adrian asked softly.
A trap dressed as concern.
My father's lips trembled.
I didn't give him the chance.
"He was about to say whatever you threatened him into saying," I snapped, and turned my head to the gray-robed clerk at the desk. "You. Read what you wrote."
The clerk's hands were still trembling from the chaos, his ledger open, ink blotting where his pen had paused mid-stroke.
He looked at Adrian, then at the priest, then at Mara—like he was calculating which death would be slower.
"I—my lady—"
"Read it," I repeated, louder. "Out loud. So everyone hears."
A palace guard in silver stepped closer, uncertain, eyes flicking between Adrian's imperial seal and my ring.
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "Seraphina, you're in no position to give orders."
I lifted my hand so the black ring caught the lamplight. "House Rivenhart protects me. And this is a palace corridor. Not a temple cell."
The thin-faced priest's smile thinned. "Protection does not erase corruption."
"It does," Mara said flatly, "erase your courage."
The priest's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Silence, dog."
Mara didn't blink. "Bark again and you'll lose your tongue."
The air went razor-tight.
I used it.
I pointed at the ledger. "Read it."
The clerk swallowed. His voice came out thin and shaking as he read the line he'd written:
"Seraphina Vale, invoking House Rivenhart's protection, arrived to request audience with Lord Vale."
The corridor shifted. Guards exchanged looks.
Because it mattered. It mattered that my name was written *before* anyone could claim I'd come to murder, before anyone could claim I'd sneaked in like a demon.
I kept my voice steady. "Now write this too. Attempted assassination of Lord Vale occurred in this corridor. Weapon bears church mark. Evidence held."
The clerk's eyes widened. "My lady, I—"
"You will," Mara said softly, "if you like having hands."
The clerk's pen dipped, shaking.
The priest stepped forward sharply. "This is blasphemy. That bolt is church property. Hand it over."
I tightened my grip on the bolt shaft, the sunburst stamp biting into my palm. "No."
The priest's eyes glittered. "Refusal is admission."
"Then you admit it first," I shot back. "If this is church property, why is it in a palace corridor? Why is a church-marked bolt fired at a noble in crown custody?"
Adrian sighed, as if I was exhausting. "Enough."
He lifted the red-wax scroll again, letting the imperial seal gleam.
"By order of the crown," he repeated smoothly, "you are detained for examination under suspicion of demon pact, attempted murder, and treasonous collusion."
He said it like it was already done.
Like my wrists were already chained.
My father jerked forward, desperate. "She didn't—"
The temple knight shoved him back down.
I snapped my gaze to the palace guards.
"This is your corridor," I said, voice rising. "Your dungeon registry. Your ledger. If you let the church seize a noble here without proper process, you admit the palace cannot protect its own laws."
One of the palace guards—a captain by the markings—stiffened at that. Pride and fear warred in his eyes.
Adrian's tone cooled. "Captain, don't be confused. The crown and the church are aligned in matters of corruption."
Aligned.
The word tasted like blood.
I leaned in, voice sharp. "Aligned means you're being used. When this becomes a scandal, guess who gets blamed? Not the prince. Not the church. You."
The captain's jaw tightened.
Adrian's eyes flicked to me, amused and cruel. "Trying to turn soldiers against me now? Desperate."
"No," I said. "I'm trying to keep them alive."
I held up the bolt. "This proves the church fired inside palace grounds. If you let them bury it, you become their accomplice."
The priest's ringed hand lifted. "Captain, in the name of purification—"
The captain hesitated, caught between two masters.
Adrian stepped closer, voice low, poisonous. "Do you want to explain to His Majesty why you defied me?"
The captain's face went pale.
There it was. The difference between law and power.
My stomach twisted, but I didn't back down.
"Then inspect it," I said quickly, pivoting. "If you're so certain, Captain, take the bolt and record it yourself. If it's false, write that. But don't let the church take evidence out of your ledger."
A beat.
The captain's eyes dropped to the bolt. Then to the dying knight still sprawled on the stones, foam crusted at his mouth.
He swallowed.
"Give it," he ordered, voice rough.
The priest's eyes flashed with triumph—until the captain pointed at *me*.
"To me," the captain clarified.
Not to the priest.
Not to Adrian.
A tiny shift.
A tiny victory.
I handed the bolt over carefully.
The captain took it like it might bite.
The thin-faced priest's jaw tightened. "Captain—"
"Record it," I snapped at the clerk, pressing the advantage. "Now."
The clerk's pen scratched.
Adrian's smile sharpened. "Seraphina. You think scribbles will save you?"
"No," I said, voice low. "I think witnesses will."
Liora's tears glittered. "Sera… please. You're frightening everyone."
I turned my head and looked at her.
Her expression was so perfect it made my skin crawl.
"You're good," I said quietly. "You almost had me, last time."
Liora's eyes widened—just a fraction.
A crack.
She recovered instantly, tears trembling. "I don't know what you mean."
Adrian's gaze snapped to me, sharper now. "What did you say?"
I ignored him and looked at my father.
He was staring at me like he didn't recognize the daughter he'd raised.
Maybe he didn't.
The daughter he raised would have apologized for breathing wrong.
This one didn't have time.
"Father," I said, holding his gaze, "listen to me. They're using you as a mouthpiece. If you speak what they want, you'll save me for one hour and doom me forever."
His throat worked. Tears gathered and didn't fall.
"I can't—" he whispered, and then his eyes flicked, terrified, toward the temple knight at his shoulder.
I followed his gaze.
The knight's hand was positioned too precisely. Fingers pressing into a nerve point near my father's collarbone.
Pain control.
I'd seen it before in my last life—guards who could make you kneel without leaving marks that mattered.
My nails dug into my palm.
"You're hurting him," I said, voice turning dangerously calm.
The knight smiled faintly. "He is being guided."
Mara shifted, lethal.
Adrian lifted a hand lazily, enjoying the spectacle. "Seraphina, don't make this uglier."
"It's already ugly," I hissed. "You're just wearing perfume over rot."
Adrian's expression cooled. "Enough theatrics."
He nodded once.
Two palace guards stepped forward to seize my arms.
Mara moved like a shadow, intercepting.
Her hand snapped out, twisting one guard's wrist. His grip broke with a yelp.
The other guard reached for his sword.
Mara's blade appeared—short, dark, meant for tight spaces.
The corridor erupted with shouts.
"Stop—!"
"Drop it—!"
"By order—!"
My heart slammed.
If Mara killed a palace guard in the dungeon corridor, Adrian would call it proof. The priest would call it corruption. Liora would cry about violence.
And my father would disappear downstairs while they "handled" me.
I couldn't let it become a brawl. Not here. Not like this.
I shoved my ringed hand up, palm out.
"Wait!"
The guards hesitated, more from confusion than respect.
I forced my voice loud enough to cut through the chaos. "Captain! This is your corridor. Do you allow bloodshed under the prince's feet without a written order logged?"
The captain snapped, "Hold!"
The palace guards froze, swords half-drawn.
Mara didn't lower her blade, but she didn't strike.
Adrian's eyes narrowed, irritation bleeding through his polished calm.
I turned to the clerk, voice razor-sharp. "Write that palace guards attempted to seize Lady Vale without presenting warrant to the registry desk."
The clerk stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
I leaned closer, cold. "Write it, or you'll be the one they blame when the duke asks where his intended went."
The clerk's pen shook.
He wrote.
Adrian took a step forward, voice deceptively gentle. "Seraphina. You're pushing men who cannot protect you."
I met his gaze. "I'm pushing men who don't want to die for your secrets."
Adrian's mouth curved. "Secrets?"
The priest moved forward again, ring raised. "Enough. The rite will confirm it."
His eyes locked on my bandaged palm.
My blood went cold.
He knew.
He'd been waiting for the cut.
For the blood I'd spilled on Kael's contract.
"Remove the bandage," the priest commanded.
Mara stepped into his path. "Try."
The priest's smile turned sharp. "You protect her like an animal protects a carcass."
Mara's eyes didn't blink. "And you stare like a man who wants to eat."
The priest's ring flashed in the lamplight as he lifted his hand higher. "By sacred authority—"
"Sacred authority doesn't apply in the palace dungeons," the captain snapped, nerves finally breaking through. "If you want her, present a warrant to the registry like everyone else."
The priest's eyes turned flat and hateful. "Captain, you will regret—"
Adrian cut in smoothly, reclaiming control. "Captain, you will not lecture the church."
Then he looked at me, voice soft, deadly. "You can stop this now. Confess and I will ensure your father lives."
My father's shoulders jerked.
His eyes lifted to mine, pleading and shattered.
I felt it like a hook in my ribs.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak without shaking.
"I will not confess to a lie," I said. "And you will not barter my father's life like coin."
Adrian sighed. "Then you leave me no choice."
The thin-faced priest stepped around the captain, daring him to stop him.
He moved straight to my father.
Too fast.
His hand gripped my father's jaw and forced his mouth open like he was inspecting livestock.
My father choked, helpless.
The priest produced a small needle from his sleeve and pricked the inside of my father's lip.
A bead of blood welled.
I surged forward—Mara moved with me—but palace guards blocked our path.
"Stop!" I shouted. "What are you doing?"
The priest smiled, still holding my father's face. "Confirming corruption."
He let the blood drip onto a folded parchment he pulled from his robe.
The parchment looked blank at first.
Then the ink appeared.
Like a bruise blooming under skin.
Black lines crawling into shape: a half circle, hooks, symbols that made my stomach twist with recognition.
The demon sigil.
Not drawn.
Revealed.
A gasp ripped through the corridor.
The clerk went white.
The captain took an involuntary step back.
Adrian's smile returned, slow and satisfied.
My throat closed.
That wasn't proof.
That was a trick.
Reactive ink.
Of course.
They didn't need my blood. They'd use any blood, any panic, any spectacle.
The priest held the parchment up high, voice ringing. "See? The ink awakens. Corruption is present. The demon pact is real."
Liora made a small sob, clutching Adrian tighter. "Sera… no…"
My vision tunneled.
It was happening again.
The same rhythm. The same faces. The same holy theater.
And this time, they'd used my father's blood like a prop.
I shoved my voice out through my clenched throat. "That is not my blood!"
The priest's smile didn't waver. "The rite confirms proximity. Corruption spreads to those who harbor it."
Adrian leaned closer to my father, voice low. "Lord Vale. There. You see what your daughter is."
My father trembled.
His eyes flicked to me—full of agony.
I shook my head once, hard. *Don't.*
His lips parted.
He drew breath.
And I realized with sick clarity: they weren't forcing him to condemn me because they needed his words.
They were forcing him because they wanted *me* to watch him break.
To watch him choose my death.
So my spirit would snap neatly before my body did.
No.
Not again.
I slammed the silver whistle to my lips and blew.
The sound was sharp, high, wrong in the dungeon air—like a blade scraping bone.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Adrian chuckled. "Calling for your duke? How sweet."
The priest's smile turned contemptuous. "A demon's signal."
Then—
Bootsteps thundered.
Not palace boots.
Heavier. Faster. Purposeful.
Black-clad men poured into the corridor like a wave of night. Rivenhart guards—Kael's shadows—moving with brutal efficiency.
The palace guards stiffened, startled, hands flying to swords.
The captain shouted, "Hold! Who—?"
A Rivenhart guard shoved a sealed writ into his hands.
The captain's eyes widened as he read.
His mouth went dry.
He looked at my ring, then at the black-armored men, then back at Adrian.
"Your Highness," the captain stammered, "this—this is a Rivenhart protection writ. It carries—"
Adrian's smile thinned. "It carries what?"
The captain swallowed. "It carries the Duke's authority to remove Lady Vale from unlawful detention attempts pending formal hearing."
Liora's breath hitched.
The priest's face twitched, just once, with real anger.
Adrian's gaze snapped to me. "You planned this."
I lifted my chin, heart hammering. "I learned."
Mara stepped closer to my side, blade still out. "My lady."
My father's eyes widened as he saw the black guards.
Hope flickered—painfully, briefly.
Adrian's voice turned ice-cold. "You will not take her."
A Rivenhart guard answered calmly. "We already have."
He reached for my arm—
And the corridor door behind Adrian opened with a slow, deliberate creak.
Silence fell like an ax.
Because the man who entered wasn't a palace guard.
He wasn't church.
He was black steel and winter.
Duke Kael Rivenhart walked into the dungeon corridor like he owned the stones beneath our feet.
His coat was spotless.
His expression was not.
His eyes were river-dark and murderous.
For one heartbeat, relief hit me so hard my knees almost gave out.
Then I saw the faint smear of white wax on his glove.
Church wax.
He'd been to the temple.
He'd come alone.
Like the letter demanded.
My stomach dropped through the floor.
Kael's gaze swept the corridor in one cold line: my father bound and bruised, the priest holding the revealed sigil, Adrian smiling, Liora crying, my whistle still in my hand.
Then Kael's eyes met mine.
A fraction of a second.
Enough to say: *I came anyway.*
He looked away and addressed the priest, voice low as a grave.
"You used blood in a palace corridor," Kael said. "Interesting."
The priest lifted his chin, trying to wear holiness like armor. "Duke Rivenhart. You were summoned."
Kael took one step forward.
The air tightened.
The priest's ringed hand rose again—too confident.
"By sacred authority," the priest declared, "both Lady Vale and Duke Rivenhart are required for immediate purification."
Adrian's smile widened, satisfied, triumphant.
Because this was the real trap.
Not me.
Not my father.
Kael.
The priest's eyes gleamed as he finished, voice ringing:
"Dawn is no longer necessary," he said. "Bring the Duke and the demon-bride downstairs—together."
And temple knights began to step out from the shadows behind Kael, closing the corridor from the only exit.