Kael's blade began to fall.
It wasn't fast.
That was the horror of it.
It was controlled—an executioner's perfect angle, a professional's certainty. The kind of strike that didn't waste motion on doubt.
My father squeezed his eyes shut, shaking so hard his bound shoulders trembled.
"Seraphina—" he choked.
The temple knight gripping my arm wrenched me back as if my body were nothing but a leash they could yank.
My throat burned where Kael had cut me earlier. Warm blood slid down beneath my collar, sticky and real. The taste of copper filled my mouth.
I couldn't reach my father.
I couldn't reach Kael.
I couldn't even reach my own knife—gone, buried in the High Inquisitor's palm.
But I could still think.
And thinking was the only reason I wasn't dead already.
The High Inquisitor's hand hovered near the altar, calm as a saint. His bleeding palm had already drawn that invisible sunburst in the air—already proved he could tug the brand on Kael's throat like a leash.
Kael's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful.
His eyes were open.
Aware.
Trapped.
That awareness was the worst part—because if he killed my father like this, he would remember every second of it.
Adrian's voice slid through the chamber, satisfied. "Do it."
Liora made a soft sob, fingers digging into Adrian's sleeve, her eyes glued to Kael's sword like she was watching dessert being served.
I forced myself to look away from them.
Predators enjoyed your attention.
I looked at what mattered.
The altar.
The goblet.
The mechanism.
The silver goblet sat on the altar ledge, half-full of shimmering "holy" poison. The same poison that had hissed against Kael's sanctified chains upstairs. The same poison that had killed the priest when Kael forced it down his throat.
It burned holy metal.
The Sunbrand on Kael's throat wasn't metal, but it was holy.
It reacted when I spat on it.
It flared when the Inquisitor bled.
So it could be disrupted.
If I could touch it again—hard enough, fast enough—I might buy seconds.
Seconds were the difference between my father living and my world ending.
Kael's sword dropped lower.
My father's throat exposed as he trembled.
I didn't scream.
Screaming wouldn't move the blade.
I moved the board.
"Captain!" I snapped, loud enough to crack through the chamber's hush.
The palace captain flinched, eyes wide, bolt still clutched in his hand like it could save him.
He looked at me, then at Adrian, then at the High Inquisitor, like he was watching himself drown in slow motion.
"This is palace custody," I said, each word sharp. "If Lord Vale dies under church hands in a palace dungeon, your ledger becomes evidence of palace surrender."
Adrian's head turned slightly, irritation flickering. "Still trying to play soldier?"
"Answer me," I demanded of the captain. "Are you going to let them turn your dungeon into a temple slaughter room and call it law?"
The captain's throat bobbed.
His eyes darted to the clerk—still clutching the ledger, still writing like his life depended on ink.
The clerk looked like he might vomit.
Good.
Let him remember everything.
The captain swallowed. "I—"
The High Inquisitor didn't even look at the captain. He spoke gently, like offering comfort. "Captain, you look frightened. You need not be. Holiness protects loyal men."
The threat was hidden in the warmth.
Be loyal.
Or be cleansed.
The captain went pale.
Kael's sword dropped another inch.
I felt time cracking.
Fine.
If no one else would move, I would.
I twisted hard in the temple knight's grip—not pulling away, but turning inward the way Kael had drilled into me.
The ring on my finger scraped against the knight's wrist.
He hissed, tightening his hold, trying to crush my arm into stillness.
I leaned in closer, as if I were losing strength, as if I were about to collapse.
Then I pressed my ring hard against the metal clasp of his gauntlet.
A sharp sizzle snapped through the air.
The knight jerked, startled.
His grip loosened—just a fraction.
But I didn't need mercy.
I needed *space*.
I slammed my elbow back into his ribs with everything I had.
He grunted.
Mara moved at the same time, vicious and efficient—she hooked her foot behind the second knight's ankle and ripped his balance out from under him. He hit the floor hard.
My arm came free.
Pain exploded up my shoulder where fingers had dug in too deep.
I didn't stop.
I lunged.
Not at Adrian.
Not at the High Inquisitor.
At the altar.
I snatched the goblet.
Cold silver bit into my palm.
Kael's sword was mid-fall—
I threw the goblet.
Not at his face.
At his throat.
At the Sunbrand.
The shimmering liquid splashed across Kael's neck.
The sunburst brand flared violently, white-hot, hissing like holy oil on flame.
Kael's body jerked hard.
His sword arm spasmed.
The blade didn't drop cleanly onto my father's throat.
It veered.
Steel sliced across my father's shoulder instead—deep enough to draw blood, not deep enough to kill.
My father screamed and collapsed, gasping, clutching the wound.
My heart seized.
Not relief.
Not yet.
But the world hadn't ended.
Kael staggered back one step, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. His hand flew up toward the brand, fingers curling like he wanted to rip it off his skin.
His eyes snapped to me.
They weren't empty now.
They were furious—alive—so sharp it felt like being pinned by a blade.
"Seraphina," he rasped, voice raw.
The High Inquisitor's expression shifted for the first time into something like annoyance.
"Interesting," he murmured. "So you *do* know how to bite."
Adrian's smile faltered. "Inquisitor—"
"Silence," the Inquisitor said softly.
Then his pale gaze slid to the goblet, now rolling on the floor, spilling the last of the shimmering poison into dark cracks between stones.
Waste.
Inconvenience.
He didn't like either.
Kael's jaw clenched. His shoulders rose and fell once, heavy. He looked at my father's blood on the floor.
Then he looked at me.
And the look in his eyes did something to my chest I didn't have time to understand.
Not softness.
Not tenderness.
A promise.
*I will not be their puppet.*
Kael turned toward the High Inquisitor.
The sanctified chains still looped around his wrists, one cuff loosened from earlier, giving him just enough freedom to be terrifying.
He lifted his sword again.
This time, not at my father.
At the Inquisitor.
The chamber tightened, every temple knight tensing like a drawn bow.
Kael's voice was low. "You wanted me to kill leverage. Fine."
The High Inquisitor smiled gently. "You can't strike me. You're branded."
Kael took one step forward anyway.
The Sunbrand on his throat pulsed, angry, trying to seize his muscles again.
Kael's body shuddered with restraint, but he kept moving, like he was dragging himself through invisible chains.
My breath caught.
He was fighting it.
And he was paying for every inch.
The Inquisitor lifted his bleeding hand slightly, drawing that invisible sunburst again.
Kael froze mid-step, jaw tightening, tendons standing out in his neck.
The brand flared.
Kael's sword arm trembled.
The High Inquisitor's voice stayed mild. "Duke Rivenhart, you will obey."
Kael's teeth bared for a heartbeat. "No."
The single word sounded like bone grinding.
The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed slightly—an almost-human flicker of irritation.
He gestured with his hand.
Temple knights surged at Kael.
Kael moved like a storm.
His chain snapped out, silver links whistling through the air. He hooked a knight by the wrist and yanked him forward—hard—then drove his elbow into the man's throat. The knight collapsed, gasping.
Kael pivoted, sword sweeping low, slicing across a second knight's thigh. Not fatal. Crippling.
Blood sprayed across white robes.
The chamber filled with shouts.
Mara slammed into a knight trying to seize me, her shoulder cracking into his chest. He stumbled back, and she stole his balance with a brutal knee to the stomach.
I didn't watch the fighting like a spectator.
I crawled to my father.
He was curled on the floor near the altar, clutching his shoulder wound, eyes unfocused with pain.
"Father," I hissed, gripping his jaw to force him to look at me. "Stay awake."
His lips trembled. "Sera… I—"
"Not now," I snapped, softer than my words sounded. "Breathe. Can you move?"
He tried and hissed, nearly blacking out.
My throat tightened.
The High Inquisitor's calm voice floated over the chaos. "You see? Disorder follows her. Demons don't need horns. They need only a woman's stubborn pride."
Adrian's voice cut in, sharp. "Seize Seraphina now!"
No.
No, no, no.
I looked up.
Adrian was stepping forward with two palace guards behind him—guards he controlled with rank and fear. He wanted to take me while Kael was occupied.
Liora hovered behind him, eyes wide and shining, whispering something into his ear like encouragement.
My hands clenched.
I needed witnesses to keep Adrian from dragging me away.
I needed the ledger.
I needed the captain to remember he had a spine.
I snapped my head toward the clerk. "Write this," I shouted. "Prince Adrian ordered seizure without registry warrant in a church chamber inside the palace!"
The clerk's pen jerked, ink blotting.
The captain hesitated, eyes darting.
Adrian's gaze snapped to the clerk, cold. "Stop writing."
The clerk froze mid-stroke, terrified.
I locked eyes with the captain. "If you let him erase the ledger now," I said, voice cutting through the room, "you'll be the first one sacrificed when this becomes scandal."
The captain's jaw tightened.
He looked at Kael.
At the fallen knights bleeding onto holy stone.
At my father's blood.
At Adrian's smooth cruelty.
Then the captain lifted his sword.
Not toward Kael.
Toward Adrian.
"Your Highness," the captain said hoarsely, "this chamber is under dispute. Until an emperor's seal is presented and recorded, no further seizures—"
Adrian's eyes went flat with fury. "You dare—"
The High Inquisitor's hand lifted.
Not a shout.
Not a command.
A quiet gesture.
Two temple knights broke away from Kael and moved toward the captain with deadly purpose.
The captain stiffened, realizing too late what he'd done.
The clerk made a choking sound.
Adrian smiled again, satisfied—because now the palace and church could label the captain as "corrupted" too.
Kael saw it.
Even fighting his own brand, he saw it.
His gaze snapped toward the captain.
His expression didn't change, but his voice turned lethal. "Touch him and I will peel this temple stone by stone."
The High Inquisitor's calm voice answered. "You can threaten a thousand times, Duke. Threats don't break covenants."
He stepped closer to the altar and dipped two fingers into the silver basin stained dark at the bottom.
Blood.
Not fresh.
Old blood.
Stored.
Prepared.
He lifted his fingers and traced a sunburst in the air again, larger this time, slower, deliberate.
The air hummed.
The candles flared.
My skin prickled like I was standing in a storm.
Kael froze mid-motion like he'd hit an invisible wall.
His sword arm locked.
His breath hitched.
The Sunbrand on his throat flared brighter than before.
I watched him fight it—shoulders trembling, jaw clenched, eyes furious.
And I realized the sick truth.
The Inquisitor wasn't controlling Kael with prayer.
He was controlling him with *blood*.
A stored covenant.
A ritual anchored in that basin.
If that basin existed, the Inquisitor could pull Kael like a puppet forever.
My gaze locked onto the altar basin.
Silver. Stained. Sacred.
A leash disguised as a holy bowl.
I surged forward—
A temple knight grabbed me.
I slammed my palm into his face and shoved back, but another grabbed my wrist and twisted.
Pain exploded. Stars burst behind my eyes.
"Hold her," the Inquisitor murmured, not looking at me. "She's so restless."
Kael's eyes snapped to me, rage flaring.
The brand pulsed again.
Kael's body jerked, forced down to one knee.
Chains clinked.
His sword lowered to the floor with a metallic scrape.
The High Inquisitor turned his pale gaze to him, satisfied.
"Duke Rivenhart," he said softly, "you will obey your covenant."
Kael's voice came out through clenched teeth. "I won't—"
The Inquisitor didn't raise his voice. "Yes, you will."
He lifted his blood-wet fingers again and pointed—this time not at my father.
At me.
"New order," the Inquisitor said gently. "To prove your purity in front of witnesses."
My stomach dropped.
Kael's eyes widened a fraction—actual alarm.
The brand on his throat flared.
Kael's head lifted slowly.
His gaze fixed on me.
I felt my blood turn to ice because I could see it—the moment his body stopped being his.
The High Inquisitor smiled, almost kindly.
"Duke Rivenhart," he said, voice soft and absolute, "impale Lady Seraphina Vale through the heart."
The chamber went silent.
My father's broken gasp sounded like a dying thing.
Mara lunged, but temple knights slammed into her from both sides, pinning her against the altar stone.
Adrian's smile widened, bright with victory.
Liora's hand flew to her mouth, tears spilling—too perfect, too late.
Kael's hand tightened around his sword hilt.
His knuckles went white.
He shook once, violently, trying to resist.
The Sunbrand pulsed.
Kael stood.
And he stepped toward me.
Sword lifting.
Point aligning with my chest.
His eyes met mine—river-dark, furious, trapped.
And then his lips barely moved, a whisper only I could catch:
"Don't fight me."
The blade drove forward.