Chapter 4 Sparks in the Dark

The flare exploded from Seraphina's hand like a captured star. It hissed and spat furious red sparks, tracing a short, terrifying arc through the smoke-choked darkness of the stairwell landing. Time seemed to slow. Lucian saw Duke Cassian's eyes widen in genuine shock, the predatory smile freezing then twisting into a snarl of pure hatred. He flinched back, throwing up an arm instinctively.

The flare struck Cassian's raised forearm, not his face. It hit with a sickening *thwack* and immediately erupted. Not flames, but a blinding, spitting fountain of white-hot magnesium sparks showered over the silk sleeve of his fine jacket. The acrid stench of burning fabric and scorched flesh filled the narrow space, overpowering the smoke.

Cassian screamed – a raw, animal sound of agony and fury. He dropped his sword with a clatter, frantically beating at his arm as the sparks clung and burned. The two thugs froze, momentarily stunned by the sudden violence and their employer's shrieks.

Lucian didn't hesitate. Survival roared through his veins, louder than Cassian's cries. The wounded thug was still reeling, clutching his bleeding side. The other stood gaping at Cassian. Lucian lunged, not at the thugs, but straight for the heavy wooden door Seraphina had identified earlier – the one Cassian claimed led to the wine cellars. He slammed his shoulder against the worn timber near the iron latch, putting all his weight and desperation into the blow.

The door groaned, ancient wood protesting, but didn't budge. Locked. Or barred from the inside. Panic threatened to rise. Behind him, Cassian's screams turned into curses, venomous and directed at Seraphina. "KILL HER! KILL THE DRAGON-SPAWN BITCH!"

The unwounded thug snapped back to attention, his club rising, his eyes locking onto Seraphina who stood frozen near the young guard, her hand still outstretched from the throw, her face pale as chalk in the erratic light of the dying flare and the distant fire glow.

"NO!" Lucian roared. He abandoned the door, turning back, his dagger raised. He wouldn't reach her in time.

The young guard, forgotten in the chaos until now, finally moved. Terror was etched deep on his soot-streaked face, but he saw the thug charging the Princess. He didn't think. He threw himself sideways, crashing into the thug's legs just as the man swung his club towards Seraphina's head.

The club whistled through empty air as the thug stumbled, thrown off balance. He crashed heavily against the stone wall, snarling. The guard scrambled back, wide-eyed, unarmed.

The distraction was enough. Lucian reached Seraphina, shoving her roughly behind him again, putting himself between her and the recovering thug. Cassian was still cursing, trying to rip the smoldering, sparking remnants of his sleeve off his seared arm. The wounded thug slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged.

"THE DOOR!" Seraphina gasped, pointing frantically past Lucian. "The KEY! On the ring!"

Lucian's gaze snapped to the heavy iron key ring still clutched in his hand – the one he'd used to unlock their chamber door. Among the large, old-fashioned keys, he spotted a smaller, blackened iron key. Hope surged. He spun back to the cellar door, shoving the key towards the lock. It fit. He turned it. The mechanism groaned, protesting years of disuse, but then clunked heavily.

He threw his weight against the door again. This time, with a shudder and a cloud of dust, it scraped inward, revealing pitch blackness and a rush of cool, damp, earth-scented air.

"GO!" Lucian bellowed, shoving Seraphina towards the opening. He turned, dagger ready, expecting the unwounded thug or Cassian to lunge.

But Cassian was preoccupied, his face contorted in pain and fury as he finally ripped the burning fabric away, revealing an angry, blistering mess on his forearm. He glared at Lucian and Seraphina with pure, unadulterated malice. "You think this changes anything? You're DEAD! Both of you! This palace will be your tomb!" He gestured wildly at the thug. "AFTER THEM! NOW!"

The thug, shaken but unhurt from the collision with the guard, hefted his club and charged. Lucian braced, knowing he couldn't turn his back. He needed to hold them off long enough for Seraphina to get clear.

But Seraphina didn't run into the darkness. Instead, she darted past Lucian, towards the slumped, wounded thug near the stairs. Before Lucian or anyone else could react, she bent down, her hand flashing out. Not to help. To grab the heavy wooden club that had clattered from the man's grip when Lucian stabbed him.

She straightened, hefting the unfamiliar weight, her slight frame dwarfed by the weapon, but her eyes burned with fierce determination. She didn't look at Lucian. She looked at the charging thug.

"Seraphina, NO!" Lucian shouted.

She ignored him. As the thug closed the distance, club raised high for a skull-shattering blow aimed at Lucian, Seraphina stepped *into* the swing. Not away. She brought her own stolen club up in a desperate, two-handed parry, meeting the descending weapon with a bone-jarring *CRACK* of wood on wood.

The impact sent shockwaves up her arms. She cried out, staggering back from the sheer force, the club nearly wrenched from her grasp. But she held on. She'd deflected the blow meant for Lucian, throwing the thug off balance for a crucial second.

It was all Lucian needed. He lunged forward, not with the dagger aimed for a killing blow, but with a savage punch from his free hand, reinforced by the heavy metal guard of his dagger hilt. It connected solidly with the thug's jaw. There was a sickening crunch. The man's eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a sack of stones, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Silence descended, broken only by Cassian's harsh breathing, the wounded thug's pained moans, the crackle of the distant fire, and the dying hiss of the flare on the floor. The young guard stared, open-mouthed, at Seraphina, who leaned against the wall, trembling violently, still clutching the heavy club.

Lucian stared at her too. Shock warred with a fierce, unfamiliar surge of something else. She'd fought. Not just defended herself. She'd stepped into danger to shield *him*. The viper had bitten the hand attacking *him*.

Cassian broke the stunned silence. His voice was a low, venomous hiss, dripping with pain and hate. He cradled his burned arm. "Clever little serpent. And you, nephew... you side with the enemy against your own blood. Remember this night." He spat on the dusty floor. "Guards will swarm this place soon. You're trapped. But this isn't over." His eyes, burning with malice, locked onto Seraphina. "You've just signed your death warrant, Princess. Slowly. Painfully."

He didn't wait for a reply. He turned, kicking the groaning, wounded thug. "Get up, useless fool! Move!" He grabbed the man's arm, hauling him roughly towards the stairs leading further down, disappearing into the smoky darkness below, abandoning his unconscious accomplice.

Lucian didn't try to stop them. His priority was getting Seraphina out. He turned to her. She'd dropped the club. It clattered loudly on the stone. She was leaning heavily against the wall, her breathing shallow and rapid, her face ghostly pale. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

"Can you walk?" Lucian asked, his voice rough but lacking its earlier ice.

She nodded mutely, pushing herself upright with obvious effort. Her eyes met his, wide and shadowed, reflecting the fading red glow of the flare. There was no defiance left, only exhaustion and residual terror.

Lucian grabbed the young guard by the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. "You. What's your name?"

"R-Rylan, Your Highness," the guard stammered.

"You saw," Lucian stated flatly. "You heard."

Rylan swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the unconscious thug, the dropped weapons, the scorch mark on the floor. "Y-yes, Your Highness. Duke Cassian... he..."

"He tried to kill the Crown Prince," Lucian finished coldly. "And the Princess. You are my witness. Now, help her." He gestured towards Seraphina.

Rylan nodded jerkily, moving to Seraphina's side. She flinched slightly as he offered his arm but allowed him to support her. Lucian snatched up the fallen flare casing – evidence – and shoved it into his pocket. He kept his dagger ready and led the way into the pitch-black opening of the cellar door.

The darkness was absolute, thick, and damp. The air was cold and smelled of earth, old stone, and decaying wood. Lucian fumbled for a moment, then remembered the small, hooded lantern clipped to Rylan's belt – standard guard issue.

"Light," he commanded.

Rylan fumbled with the lantern, his hands shaking. A moment later, a small, wavering beam of yellow light pierced the gloom, illuminating rough stone walls slick with moisture, a low ceiling, and a narrow passageway sloping gently downward, stacked high on both sides with dusty barrels and crates. Wine cellars.

"Stay close," Lucian ordered, stepping into the passage. "And be quiet."

They moved slowly, the lantern beam bouncing erratically. Seraphina leaned heavily on Rylan, her steps faltering. Lucian scanned the shadows, every sense straining, listening for pursuit, for ambush. The only sounds were their footsteps, their breathing, and the frantic pounding of his own heart.

They navigated the maze-like cellar passages for what felt like an eternity. The air grew colder. The distant roar of the fire was muffled, replaced by the dripping of water somewhere in the darkness. Lucian chose turns seemingly at random, driven by instinct and the desperate need to put distance between them and the stairwell.

Finally, they reached a dead end – a heavy, iron-bound door set into the stone. Lucian tried it. Locked, of course. He examined it in the lantern light. Ancient, sturdy. He glanced back at Rylan and Seraphina. She looked ready to collapse. He couldn't risk trying to break it down; the noise could bring Cassian's men or palace guards who might be loyal to his uncle.

"Rest here," Lucian said, his voice low. "Just for a moment." He leaned against the damp stone wall opposite the door, suddenly aware of a fierce, burning ache in his side. He pressed a hand to it, hissing as pain lanced through him. He looked down. The dark blue wool of his uniform jacket was soaked through with something much darker near his ribs. Blood. He'd been so pumped with adrenaline, he hadn't even registered the thug's club grazing him during the fight, or perhaps the stab wound he inflicted had spattered back more than he realized. It wasn't deep, he thought, but it bled freely.

Seraphina saw it. Her eyes, huge in the dim light, fixed on the spreading stain. Her breath hitched. She pulled away from Rylan, stumbling the step towards Lucian. Her hand, cold and trembling, reached out, hovering near the wound, not quite touching it. Her gaze lifted to his face, filled with a complex storm of fear, exhaustion, and something else – something that looked horribly like guilt.

"You're hurt," she whispered, her voice raw and thin.

Lucian met her eyes. The flickering lantern light cast deep shadows on her pale face, highlighting the bruise on her shoulder, the tear in her gown. She looked shattered. Yet, she'd grabbed a club. She'd parried a blow meant for him.

"Why?" The word escaped him, harsh and low. "Why did you do it? Throw the flare? Grab the club?" He gestured weakly towards his side, though he meant the fight, the risk she took. "You could have run. You *should* have run."

Seraphina stared at him, her green eyes searching his face in the gloom. The guilt in them deepened, mixed with a profound weariness. She opened her mouth, perhaps to answer, perhaps to say something else entirely. Then her eyes rolled back. Her knees buckled. She crumpled silently towards the damp cellar floor. Rylan lunged, catching her just before she hit the stones.

Lucian pushed off the wall, ignoring the fresh stab of pain in his side. He knelt beside her, Rylan holding her shoulders. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow. Unconscious, she looked terrifyingly young and fragile.

"She saved your life, Your Highness," Rylan murmured, his voice filled with awe and fear.

Lucian looked down at the unconscious woman who was his wife, his enemy, and now, inexplicably, his protector. The cellar's oppressive darkness pressed in. Cassian was still out there. The fire raged above. Guards could be friend or foe. And Seraphina Dravens, the viper he'd locked away, had just fallen saving him from his own blood.

"Why?" he whispered again, the question echoing unanswered in the cold, silent dark. He gently brushed a strand of dark hair from her unnaturally pale forehead. The answers, he realized with a chilling certainty, were far more dangerous than he had ever imagined. And they were locked inside the unconscious woman before him.