The moon hung like a silver coin above the palace spires—cold, distant, and watching.
Seraphina couldn't sleep.
The echo of her own words in the council chamber still rang in her ears. Too many nobles had smiled too quickly, bowed too low. Something was coming. She could feel it crawling beneath her skin, a tension that refused to settle.
Her chambers were cloaked in silence, dimly lit by the last embers of a candle. She stood by the tall window, staring into the night, but her thoughts drifted inward—toward a memory of silver eyes and a scar that hadn't yet been earned.
Caius.
She had seen that scar once before—deep and angry across his cheek, a cruel reminder of everything she'd lost. Of what she'd done. Of who she'd become.
Now, he walked these halls again, alive and whole. Breathing the same air. Watching her with suspicion… and something else. Something tender, unspoken.
She didn't know if it was guilt or dread—or something far softer and far more dangerous—that made her heart ache when she thought of him.
A creak.
She turned.
Too late.
A figure leapt from the shadows, blade gleaming with death in the candlelight. There was no time to scream.
Instinct—no, something deeper—surged through her veins. Her hand flew up.
The air snapped.
The blade froze midair, suspended inches from her heart, trembling in place as if gripped by invisible chains. Her eyes widened. Not at the assassin—but at her hand. It glowed faintly, wrapped in tendrils of violet light that shimmered like smoke.
"I—" she whispered.
The assassin snarled, trying to pull away.
Bad idea.
Her pulse thundered. The magic responded like a living thing—lashing out, crushing the dagger to dust and flinging the man across the room with bone-shattering force.
He hit the wall and crumpled.
Silence.
Seraphina stood frozen. Her hand still outstretched, her breath ragged. Her knees gave out and she sank to the floor, heart pounding, fingers trembling with the aftermath of something powerful—and terrifying.
Someone had just tried to kill her.
And she had used magic. Not learned, not cast. Unleashed.
⸻
By morning, the palace was humming with hushed voices and veiled glances.
Seraphina sat in the solar, a porcelain cup untouched between her hands. Across the table, Lady Marrow prattled on, but Seraphina heard only fragments.
"…no signs of forced entry… a servant said she saw movement… could've been a rat, or a thief—though nothing was taken…"
Of course.
A lie wrapped in protocol. Convenient silence. The kind of danger that lived in shadows and wore noble rings.
They were covering it up.
But why?
Because someone had grown afraid of her? Or because she'd spoken truths in the council chamber that weren't meant to be heard?
She left the solar quietly. The hallways stretched long and cold beneath her feet, but her thoughts burned. Too many questions. Too much uncertainty.
She found herself drifting—feet carrying her toward a forgotten garden nestled behind the eastern wing. It was old, unkempt, grown wild in a way she liked. There were no servants here, no listening ears.
Only silence.
And Caius.
He stood beneath an archway strangled by ivy, arms crossed, his silver eyes trained on her with unreadable intensity.
"I heard about last night," he said.
His voice was low, steady.
"They're calling it a false alarm. Said it was just a servant being foolish."
Seraphina didn't respond right away. She walked past him, fingertips grazing the edge of a moss-covered statue.
"You don't believe that," she said quietly.
"No," he admitted. "And neither do you."
A pause.
The wind moved through the garden like a whisper. When she turned to look at him, Caius had stepped closer.
"You're different," he said.
She arched a brow.
"That's rich, coming from a stranger."
His expression didn't waver. "I don't mean just how you speak to the court like you've already lived a thousand lives. Or how you walk like you're waiting for someone to betray you. I mean—there's something inside you."
Her breath caught. For a moment, she didn't see the boy from the garden. She saw the man he would become—the one who'd bled for a kingdom, the one who had once trusted her… and died for it.
He stepped closer again.
And this time, she didn't move away.
Their eyes locked, tension crackling in the space between them. Her heartbeat quickened, not from fear—but from the pull she'd tried so hard to ignore.
"I know who you become," she whispered, before she could stop herself.
Caius tilted his head. "What did you say?"
But she only shook her head, retreating a step. "Nothing."
"Seraphina…"
The way he said her name—it wasn't the first time, and yet it felt new. Like a promise. Like the warning before a storm.
"Why are you really here?" he asked. "Back at court. You could've stayed in your estate. No one expected you."
She looked at him for a long moment. Weighing the truth behind her teeth.
Then she smiled, sharp and slow.
"Maybe I missed the danger," she said. "Maybe I'm looking for something."
His eyes searched hers, as if trying to unravel the storm behind them.
"Or someone?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
⸻
That night, back in her chambers, Seraphina sat on the floor beside her mirror, candles flickering in a circle around her. Her fingers trembled as she held her hands out, palms open.
The same energy that had saved her last night now danced faintly beneath her skin. It was wild, untamed. Not the court-approved, academic magic of old men and dusty scrolls.
This was something older. Hungrier.
She tried to focus it.
Breathe it.
Control it.
But every time she summoned it, it responded like a beast—fierce, beautiful, and barely chained.
Visions flickered behind her eyelids—flashes of the past life. Caius bleeding in the snow. Her own hand, shaking. Blood on her sword.
She had been a monster once. A weapon.
But not this time.
This time, she would not be used.
This time, she would burn those who betrayed her—before they had the chance.
⸻
The next morning, the throne room was quieter than usual. Nobles filed in with strained smiles and wary eyes. Whispers danced from ear to ear.
Seraphina D'Arvelle was dangerous.
She was alive. She was speaking again. And someone had already tried to silence her.
But she entered the chamber with her head high and her dress sweeping like shadow behind her. A serpent in silk.
Every eye turned to her.
And when her gaze met Caius', he didn't look away.
She sat beside her father, unmoved by the weight of stares.
Let them watch.
Let them wonder.
Because she was no longer the woman they remembered.
She was becoming something else entirely.
And the kingdom wasn't ready for her.