Adrian's sword began to fall.
For one heartbeat, the metal sang softly in the dungeon air—clean, almost beautiful, like the empire itself pretending this was justice.
My father's eyes went wide.
My lungs locked.
I fought the temple knights gripping my arms, twisting hard enough that pain shot up my shoulders. Their hands only tightened, crushing muscle and bone with trained indifference.
"Father—!"
My scream tore out uselessly.
Adrian's blade cut down—
And stopped.
Not in my father's throat.
In a gloved hand.
Kael Rivenhart had moved like a shadow snapping into place. One step, fast enough that I barely saw him cross the space between himself and my father. The sanctified chains around his wrists rattled and flashed, silver-threaded links biting into his skin.
His hand clamped around the sword blade itself.
Bare-handed.
The steel bit into his palm.
A thin line of red appeared, bright against black leather.
Kael didn't flinch.
Adrian froze mid-swing, eyes narrowing as if he couldn't quite believe someone had dared touch *his* weapon.
Kael's voice was low and flat. "You don't cut him."
Adrian's smile twitched. "Let go."
Kael tightened his grip.
Blood slid down the blade, slow and controlled, like Kael was bleeding on purpose just to make a point.
"Try again," Kael said softly, "and I take your hand with it."
The corridor went so silent I could hear my father's shaking breaths.
Liora made a small sound—half sob, half gasp—clutching Adrian's arm tighter.
The High Inquisitor watched with gentle interest, as if this was merely a demonstration in a lecture hall.
"Duke Rivenhart," he murmured. "Such temper."
Kael didn't look at him.
His gaze stayed on Adrian, cold enough to frost bones. "He isn't your leverage."
Adrian's expression cooled, smooth cruelty sliding into place. "He's hers. And she's yours, apparently. That makes him mine by extension."
The words were meant to provoke Kael.
They did.
I saw it—not in Kael's face, but in the way the sanctified chains around his wrists tightened as if responding to his intent. The silver etchings glowed faintly, brightening against his skin.
The chains weren't just metal.
They were a leash.
And they reacted to him.
Kael's jaw tightened by a fraction. He forced himself still.
That restraint terrified me more than rage.
Because it meant he was choosing not to unleash what he could.
Which meant the trap was bigger than this corridor.
The High Inquisitor's voice slid through the silence again, mild as tea. "Prince Adrian, you were instructed to execute the leverage. Not to start a duel."
Adrian's eyes flicked to the Inquisitor. "Then perhaps the Duke should stop interfering."
The High Inquisitor smiled. "Perhaps."
Then his pale eyes drifted to my father.
And something in his gaze made my stomach turn.
He didn't want my father dead.
He wanted my father *used*.
Dead leverage is only good once.
Living leverage can be squeezed until the last drop.
"Lord Vale," the High Inquisitor said softly, "you are trembling."
My father swallowed hard, voice broken. "I… I'm fine."
"No," the Inquisitor corrected gently. "You are afraid."
My father's shoulders shook.
I tried to step forward again, but the temple knights pinning my arms shifted their grip, forcing me back.
Pain flashed.
Rage followed.
I met Kael's eyes across the chaos.
He didn't look at me the way Adrian did—like I was a thing to be controlled.
Kael looked at me like I was a move on a board he was already calculating.
Then his gaze slid briefly to my ring.
A silent reminder: *Use what you have.*
Fine.
I forced my voice up, loud enough to cut through the corridor.
"Captain!"
The palace captain flinched, still clutching the church-marked bolt like it might curse him.
His eyes jumped to me.
"This is palace jurisdiction," I said sharply. "Do you allow the crown prince to execute a noble prisoner in a registry corridor without an emperor's warrant recorded in your ledger?"
Adrian's head turned slowly, irritation sharpening. "Seraphina, don't—"
"Answer," I snapped at the captain, not at Adrian. "Do you?"
The captain's throat bobbed.
His gaze darted to Adrian—then to Kael's guards lining the corridor—then to the gray-robed clerk with ink-stained hands and terror in his eyes.
The clerk was already writing, as if he could hide behind ink.
Good.
Let the paper become a weapon.
The captain swallowed hard. "Your Highness… there are procedures—"
Adrian's smile returned, thin and dangerous. "Captain. Are you questioning my authority?"
The captain went white.
The High Inquisitor tilted his head, watching the captain like a man watching a small animal choose which predator to obey.
Kael's voice cut in, calm and lethal. "Captain. If you don't enforce the palace's law in its own corridor, then you've already surrendered your post to the church."
The captain's hands tightened around the bolt.
I saw pride flicker—weak, frightened pride, but present.
He took a breath. "No execution takes place in the registry corridor without an emperor's seal recorded," he said, voice rough. "That is palace law."
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
Liora's lashes fluttered.
The priest's mouth tightened with anger.
The Inquisitor simply smiled, as if pleased the puppet had spoken.
"Then we won't execute him here," the Inquisitor said pleasantly.
My blood ran cold.
That wasn't concession.
That was a new path to the same ending.
The Inquisitor lifted a hand, palm down.
Temple knights moved instantly—not toward Kael, not toward me.
Toward my father.
"Take Lord Vale downstairs," the Inquisitor said softly. "For proper questioning."
My father jerked. "No—!"
Two temple knights hauled him upright.
He stumbled, weak, wrists raw, face bruised. He looked like a man already half-broken.
"Father!" I surged forward.
The knights gripping me yanked me back, my shoulder screaming.
I twisted, kicking blindly. My heel connected with something—shin, maybe. A grunt.
It didn't free me.
It only tightened the grips until my arms went numb.
Kael's voice snapped through the corridor, suddenly sharper. "Stop."
The temple knights didn't stop.
They never stopped without permission.
Adrian's gaze flicked to the Inquisitor, and his mouth curved. He looked satisfied.
Because this was cleaner than a public execution.
No blood in the registry corridor.
No scandal.
Just a man disappearing downstairs.
My father's eyes met mine as they dragged him toward the stairwell.
His expression wasn't just fear.
It was apology.
Like he'd already decided he would break.
Like he was begging me to forgive him for what he was about to do.
My chest burned.
"No," I whispered. "Don't you dare—"
A hand squeezed my jaw hard, forcing my head back.
The thin-faced priest leaned close, breath smelling of wax and smugness.
"You see?" he murmured. "Words are easier when spoken in the dark."
I bared my teeth. "Touch me again and I'll bite your throat out."
His smile widened. "That would be very… demonic."
Kael moved.
The sanctified chains clinked.
His chained wrist shot out and slammed into the priest's forearm, knocking the priest's hand away from my face with brutal precision.
The priest stumbled back, shock flashing through his piety.
Kael didn't follow up.
He didn't need to.
He simply looked at the Inquisitor.
"Release him," Kael said.
The Inquisitor's smile remained gentle. "And why would I do that?"
Kael's voice dropped, colder. "Because you're overreaching."
The Inquisitor chuckled softly. "Overreaching is a matter of perspective. Your Grace, you interfere with cleansing. You incite soldiers. You spill blood on sacred chains."
His pale gaze flicked to Kael's cut palm.
"And you still think you dictate terms."
Kael's eyes didn't flinch.
But the chains around his wrists tightened again, silver light pulsing faintly.
Kael's fingers flexed once.
The movement was small.
The sound it produced was not.
Metal strained.
A single link in the sanctified chain bent—just a fraction—like it was fighting against something inside Kael rather than simply holding him.
The temple knights nearest him tensed, startled.
The Inquisitor's smile thinned slightly.
So.
Even holy chains feared the Black Duke.
Kael's gaze slid to me.
A silent question.
*Can you hold yourself together long enough to think?*
I swallowed the scream rising in my throat and forced my mind to work.
They were dragging my father downstairs.
If he disappeared, they could do anything.
If I followed, I risked being sealed into the same darkness—where ledgers didn't matter and witnesses didn't exist.
But if I didn't follow, I'd lose him.
And then they'd use his broken confession to kill me anyway.
I took a breath that felt like swallowing fire.
"Fine," I said loudly.
Every head turned.
Adrian's brows lifted.
Liora's tears paused, attentive.
The Inquisitor looked amused.
Kael's gaze sharpened.
I forced my voice steady. "You want me downstairs? I'll go."
Mara's head snapped toward me, eyes flashing. "My lady—"
I cut her off without looking at her. "But not like an animal dragged by priests. I go as Duke Rivenhart's intended, under palace record, with a witness."
Adrian laughed softly. "Still bargaining."
"Yes," I said, meeting his gaze. "Because unlike you, I know what law is for."
The Inquisitor's eyes glittered with mild interest. "And what witness do you demand, child?"
I pointed at the captain. "Him. And the clerk. The ledger comes too."
The clerk nearly fainted.
The captain stiffened, caught between fear and pride again.
Adrian's smile sharpened. "You can't order palace officers around."
"I'm not ordering," I said. "I'm making it difficult for you to make me disappear."
The Inquisitor chuckled. "So clever."
He looked at Kael. "And you, Duke Rivenhart? Will you allow your intended to descend into cleansing rites?"
Kael's jaw tightened, only slightly.
He glanced at my father being dragged toward the stairs.
Then at me.
His eyes were river-dark, controlled.
He didn't say *don't go*.
He didn't say *I'll save him*.
He said the one thing that mattered.
"Do it," Kael said quietly. "But don't drink anything."
A shiver ran down my spine.
Not because of the words.
Because of the memory they dragged up.
A goblet.
Moonlight liquid.
My throat burning.
Death.
I swallowed hard and nodded once.
Kael's gaze flicked to Mara. "You stay on her."
Mara's jaw clenched. "Yes, my lord."
The Inquisitor lifted a hand. "Very well. Let the palace witness. Let the clerk write. Truth has nothing to fear from ink."
He smiled as he said it.
And I knew it was a lie.
Because ink was exactly what he feared—when it was controlled by someone else.
The temple knights holding my arms loosened just enough to reposition me, turning me toward the stairwell.
Not releasing.
Guiding.
Like cattle.
My father was dragged first.
His feet scraped stone.
His breathing was ragged.
"Seraphina," he whispered, voice breaking as he passed me, "I'm sorry—"
"Don't speak," I said quickly, squeezing his arm as much as I could with my hands trapped. "Save your strength. Look at me. You stay alive."
His eyes trembled.
He nodded once.
Then they pulled him away.
I was shoved forward next.
Mara moved beside me like a shadow, close enough that I could feel her readiness to strike.
The captain hesitated, then followed—forced by Kael's cold stare and the reality of Rivenhart guards filling the corridor.
The clerk stumbled after them, clutching the ledger like it was a life raft.
Adrian and Liora followed at a leisurely pace, as if they were attending a private performance.
Kael came last.
Chained.
The sanctified links glowed faintly as he descended.
Each step was controlled.
Measured.
A predator allowing himself to be guided—because he chose the moment of his bite.
The stairs went down too far.
Stone swallowed light.
The air grew damp and old, thick with the scent of wax and iron and something bitter underneath.
Memory.
My stomach tightened as the corridor opened into a chamber.
Not the registry.
Not the palace.
This room belonged to the church.
An altar of pale stone stood at the center, carved with sunbursts that looked like claws if you stared too long. A basin of silver sat on it, stained dark at the bottom.
Candles lined the walls, burning with a steady, smokeless flame that made the shadows look wrong.
The kind of room where screams didn't echo out.
The kind of room where truth died quietly.
The temple knights marched my father to his knees before the altar.
He sagged, barely holding himself up.
Rage surged, hot and dizzy.
I forced it down and watched.
Watched hands. Watched positions. Watched who stood where.
Because this was a stage.
And stages have exits.
The High Inquisitor glided to the altar, robes whispering.
"Welcome," he murmured, as if we were guests. "Now. Let us cleanse."
The thin-faced priest stepped forward with the parchment—the one that had "awakened" to a demon sigil from my father's blood.
He held it out to the Inquisitor like an offering.
The Inquisitor took it, glanced once, then smiled.
"So easy," he said softly.
Then his eyes lifted to me.
"To make ink sing when you know what blood it likes."
My stomach dropped.
He knew.
He knew about my cut palm.
About the blood contract.
Kael's chains rattled faintly as he shifted.
The Inquisitor's gaze slid to Kael's cut hand, then to my bandage.
"You signed something tonight," he said, voice almost conversational. "In blood."
My throat went dry.
Liora gasped softly behind Adrian, as if horrified.
Adrian's expression remained smooth—too smooth.
Like he'd known this part all along.
The Inquisitor lifted a second parchment from beneath the altar.
This one wasn't stained with my father's blood.
It was marked with a single dark dot—old, dried.
My blood.
The drop from Kael's contract.
And across the page, glossy black ink began to appear, crawling into letters as if the paper itself were bruising.
**SERAPHINA VALE ACCEPTS THE DARK.**
My vision sharpened.
My ears rang.
The room tilted.
The words were the same as the planted parchment.
But this one was worse.
Because it carried my blood.
Because it came from a contract I'd signed under Kael's roof.
My hands clenched until my nails bit into my palms.
I turned my head slowly toward Kael.
He stood rigid, chained wrists in front of him, expression unreadable.
Winter eyes.
No apology.
No shock.
Only calculation.
My chest burned. *Did he know?*
The thought hit like betrayal.
Then Kael's gaze met mine for a fraction of a second, and I saw it—anger, tightly caged. Not at me.
At the Inquisitor.
At the mechanism.
At the fact that my blood had been used as a blade.
The Inquisitor smiled at my silence. "How convenient. A confession written by your own body. The empire loves such neat endings."
He looked at Adrian. "Prince Adrian. Present the instrument."
Adrian's smile returned, slow and satisfied.
He gestured.
A temple knight stepped forward holding a silver goblet.
The liquid inside shimmered pale, like trapped moonlight.
My stomach dropped through the floor.
My throat remembered the burn.
My lungs remembered dying.
No.
Not again.
The Inquisitor's voice was gentle. "Duke Rivenhart."
Kael's gaze lifted, cold.
The Inquisitor extended the goblet toward him.
"You will conduct the purification," the Inquisitor said softly. "Prove your holiness to the empire."
Adrian's eyes gleamed.
Liora's lips parted in a small, trembling breath—anticipation disguised as fear.
Kael's chained hands hovered, motionless.
The Inquisitor's smile widened.
"Go on," he murmured. "Hold the goblet to your demon-bride's lips…"
His pale eyes slid to me.
"…and make her drink."