The Valencrest estate did not sleep that night.
Amelia stood by the tall window of her chamber, fingers resting lightly against the cold glass as moonlight bathed the gardens below. The laughter from the grand hall had faded hours ago, yet her heart refused to calm.
Three gazes.
She could still feel them.
Red. Blue. Gold.
She closed her eyes.
"Miss Amelia," Elara's voice came softly from behind her. "You should rest."
"I know," Amelia replied, though she did not turn around. "But my thoughts won't allow it."
Elara hesitated before approaching. As the head maid who had served Amelia since childhood, she alone understood when silence was better than reassurance.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" Elara asked quietly. "At the hall."
Amelia's fingers curled.
"Yes."
The moment the young pope's golden eyes had met hers, something deep within her had stirred—something old and restrained. Not violent, but vast. Like a locked door recognizing its key.
"The Church does not attend noble debuts without reason," Elara said carefully. "Especially not His Holiness himself."
Amelia exhaled slowly.
"I don't want trouble."
Elara smiled sadly. "Trouble often wants you."
By dawn, black carriages lined the Valencrest gates.
The duke departed first.
Amelia watched discreetly from the balcony as Duke Lucien Blackthorn mounted his horse. His presence alone silenced the surrounding knights. He moved with the discipline of a man who had lived too long on battlefields.
Just before leaving, he looked up.
Their eyes met again.
This time, Amelia did not look away.
Lucien's red eyes narrowed slightly—not with threat, but something far more unsettling.
Recognition.
He turned and rode off without another word.
Moments later, a far brighter scene unfolded.
Prince Adrian's laughter echoed through the courtyard as he spoke animatedly with the knights. When he spotted Amelia above, his face lit up.
"Lady Amelia!" he called. "You survived your debut!"
She smiled faintly and inclined her head.
"I did, Your Highness."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Then I shall take partial credit for keeping things entertaining."
From the shadows near the gate, Duke Blackthorn paused.
Prince Adrian noticed.
Their eyes met.
The air sharpened.
Adrian's smile remained, but his tone shifted. "Safe travels, Your Grace."
Lucien gave a shallow bow. "Watch your steps at court, Your Highness."
The prince's eyes flicked briefly toward Amelia.
"I always do."
Lucien mounted his horse and left.
Amelia felt something tighten in her chest.
By midday, the Church delegation remained.
The pope had not departed.
Instead, a formal summons arrived.
Count Valencrest read the sealed parchment twice before lowering it slowly.
"They request Lady Amelia's presence," he said. "For a blessing."
The Countess stiffened. "A private blessing?"
"Yes."
Amelia's heartbeat quickened.
"I will go," she said calmly.
Her parents exchanged looks.
"Amelia," her mother said softly, "if anything feels wrong—"
"I will return," Amelia assured her.
She did not add: if they let me.
The cathedral within Valencrest was smaller than the capital's grand basilica, but its stone walls hummed faintly with sanctified power.
Pope Seraphiel stood alone at the altar.
When Amelia entered, the doors closed behind her.
"You are not afraid," he observed.
"I am cautious," Amelia replied.
A faint smile curved his lips. "As you should be."
He descended the steps slowly, white robes whispering against the stone. Up close, his youth was more apparent—he could not have been older than his early twenties.
Yet his eyes—
Golden. Ancient.
"You carry something rare," he said. "Not just magic. Balance."
Amelia stiffened. "I don't understand."
"You will." He stopped before her. "Tell me, Lady Amelia—when you stand near holy relics, do they warm?"
Her breath caught.
"Yes."
"When you pray," he continued gently, "does the silence answer?"
Amelia swallowed. "Yes."
Seraphiel closed his eyes briefly.
"So the scriptures were not lies."
She stepped back. "Your Holiness, my family—"
"I will not harm you," he said quickly. "Nor expose you."
He opened his eyes again, softer now.
"But others will try."
Elsewhere in the cathedral—
Lady Celestine Ravenshade clenched her gloved hands.
She had watched everything.
The pope's attention. The prince's smile. The duke's stare.
All of it should have been hers.
"That insignificant count's daughter," Celestine hissed. "How dare she."
Her maid leaned closer. "My lady… rumors are already spreading."
Celestine's eyes gleamed. "Good."
If Amelia Valencrest wished to stand beneath crown, blade, and faith—
Then she would learn what it meant to be crushed by them.
That evening, Amelia returned home with a single thought echoing in her mind:
She was no longer unseen.
And fate had begun to move.