Victoria pressed her palms hard against the cold stone, her breath ragged. The scorch marks from earlier still glared back at her, stark black smears across pale marble. The fire inside her pulsed, hot and restless, begging to be freed.
But she couldn't. Not now.
Not with guards at every corner. Not with Damien's eyes ever so near, sharp enough to cut through lies.
If he learned of this second power, he would tighten her chains until she couldn't even breathe. He would use her fire as he sought to use her light, turning her into a weapon for his empire.
No. The flames belonged to her—and her alone.
Victoria dragged herself onto the cot and curled against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. Sweat still clung to her temples, but she forced her breathing into calm, steady rhythms. The light, the gentle blessing of beauty, wrapped around her like a veil, soft enough to hide the fire's glow.
When the door opened again, Damien himself stood in the frame.
Her heart lurched, but she lowered her eyes, feigning exhaustion. The goddess's light glimmered faintly, enough to make her look harmless.
Damien stepped inside, dismissing the guards with a flick of his hand. His boots clicked across the floor until he stood just before her cot, looming in shadow.
"You've been restless," he said softly. Too softly. "The palace whispers of smoke, of fire. What are you hiding from me, Victoria?"
Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she lifted her chin just enough to meet his gaze. "Nothing. If smoke rose, perhaps it was the torches."
His eyes narrowed. He didn't believe her. Not fully. But after a long, tense silence, he reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"I don't like secrets," he murmured. "Especially not from you."
His touch burned colder than the chains ever had.
She didn't flinch, though inside her fire raged.
"I have no secrets left," she whispered.
A lie. One she clung to like lifeblood.
Damien's jaw clenched, then he stepped back. "Good. For your sake, I hope that's true." He turned sharply, his cloak swirling, and left her chamber without another word.
The door slammed shut. The locks clicked.
Victoria let out the breath she had been holding. Her hands trembled in her lap, and when she glanced down, the faintest ember danced between her fingers before fading.
She closed her fist around it.
Not yet, she told herself. Not until the moment comes. Not until I can strike and never be chained again.
And in the darkness of the palace, the secret fire within her smoldered, waiting for the day it would ignite the world.