Chapter 4 004

Seraphina spoke not of destiny or divine right, but of justice. Of what had been stolen, not only from her family-but from the realm itself. A rot left to fester in courtrooms and cathedrals, in forged records and silenced names.

"They say House Trelling fell," she said, voice low, steady. "But fall is not the end of a house. Fall is only the first breath before rising."

Lord Bram crossed his arms, dark eyes unreadable beneath his salt-flecked hair. He bore the scars of old campaigns-half a dozen rings on his fingers, and none purely decorative. "And what would you rise to, my lady?"

"To stop what's coming," she replied. "You've felt it. This realm feels it. The High City clings to order with desperate hands. Alliances crumble in whispers. Coin buys favor faster than law. And somewhere beneath it all-someone is shaping the next war."

Lady Nyla, cloaked in deep green, leaned forward, her gaze sharp and slanted like a hawk's. "You speak of war as if it is assured."

"I speak of war because it's already begun," Seraphina said. "Not with armies, but with lies. With a coronation planned beneath bloodlight. You know it. You feel it."

Commander Ethryn, youngest of the three and clad in black and steel, tilted his head. "And you expect us to believe you are the rightful counter to that war? A ghost girl with no title, no seal, and no army?"

Seraphina's hands rested calmly on the table, but her voice cut through the hall like a drawn blade.

"I have something greater than armies," she said. "I have the truth. And I have a name no one could bury."

For a moment, the room held its breath.

Then Cael stepped forward and placed an old scroll on the table. The wax seal was frayed but intact. The sigil unmistakable-House Trelling, encircled by the ancient rune of sovereign birthright.

He unfurled it.

The signatures gleamed faintly under the firelight: the royal charter, the blood-mark of her father, and the seal of the late queen herself-Seraphina's godmother.

Lord Bram's jaw tightened. Nyla's eyes flickered with something like recognition. Ethryn remained stone-faced, but his posture shifted-just slightly.

"This was thought destroyed," Nyla murmured.

"They tried," Cael said. "But even fire has its limits."

Ethryn stepped closer. "And the bloodmark? How do we know it's not forged?"

Cael opened a velvet pouch and withdrew a slender glass vial. Inside, nestled in oil, was a shard of crystal. A bloodstone. Old magic, dangerous and rare.

"If you doubt her," Cael said, handing it over, "test her blood against the stone."

A long pause.

Seraphina stepped forward and took the dagger from her belt. No hesitation. She drew it lightly across her palm, and a single drop bloomed like wine on stone. Cael caught it in the small silver basin beside the scroll and pressed the bloodstone to its surface.

The room darkened. The flame in the hearth guttered. The basin shimmered-and the stone flared violet.

A gasp escaped from Bram.

"That hue," he whispered. "It's true then. Royal oathborn."

"She carries the mark of the Old Line," Cael said. "More than a name. More than a right. A promise."

The shadows released the room. The hearth flared again.

And silence followed. Heavy. Electric.

Lady Nyla straightened her spine. "If this is true-then the coronation is treason."

Seraphina didn't blink. "So stop it with me."

Ethryn was the first to speak again.

"I'll not pledge blindly," he said. "But I'll not sit idle, either. I'll send word to my captain in Velgrave. You may find protection there-if you're clever."

Bram folded his arms. "I won't kneel. Not until I see the High City shake. But I'll ride with you. That, I promise."

Nyla was last to speak. She tapped one long finger on the table. "You'll need a dressmaker. And a tutor in court custom. If you walk into that city in rags, they'll string you up as a pretender."

Seraphina met her gaze. "Then teach me what I need."

Nyla smiled. Barely. But it was a beginning.

They left before dawn.

Seraphina watched from the window as their horses vanished into the rising mist. The hall felt both larger and smaller in their absence.

"They'll talk," Cael said beside her. "They'll spread word of what they saw."

"Good," she replied.

Then, quieter: "I've waited ten years to be believed. One night, and I've started it."

Cael looked at her for a long time. "You started more than that."

They worked swiftly. The house became a forge, and she its blade.

Nyla sent two couriers-one with bolts of fabric and gold-threaded sashes, the other with letters of introduction to old allies. Bram returned with forged travel papers and an unmarked carriage. And Ethryn's captain-a dark-eyed woman named Thorne-delivered a hidden passage through the old catacombs beneath Velgrave.

Seraphina studied maps by candlelight. Learned the names of the ruling houses. Rehearsed lines of forgotten law, the histories of border treaties, the cadences of power.

But it wasn't just strategy she studied.

It was poise. The weight of every glance. How to let silence do more than words. How to wear her name like armor.

And one night, under a storm-fed sky, she walked into the ruined chapel on the edge of the estate.

The pews were broken. The altar black with soot. But beneath the dust, the bones of the place still hummed with memory.

She lit a single candle and placed it where her mother once knelt.

"I'm going," she whispered. "To Velgrave. To take back what was ours."

The candle flickered. Then stilled.

The night before they left, Cael found her standing at the mirror in her parents' old chamber.

Her new gown shimmered like riverlight-steel-blue silk trimmed with raven feathers at the shoulder. Her hair was braided back, laced with silver. A pendant at her throat bore the sigil of Trelling, reforged.

"You look like your mother," Cael said.

Seraphina turned. "Do I?"

"In the way you carry silence," he said. "And fire."

She smiled, faint and fleeting.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "But I'm going anyway."

They departed under moonlight, through the orchard gate.

The road to Velgrave would take three days if weather held, longer if patrols spotted them. But she wasn't afraid.

Not anymore.

As the manor disappeared behind them, Seraphina looked back once.

The house stood silent. Tall. Waiting.

It had remembered her.

And now, so would the world.