Chapter 4 The Flame Within

She slipped out after court dismissed, toward the west wing. No one stopped her. Not anymore. The guards had learned to look past her-just another noble daughter drifting through stone halls, probably off to embroidery or harp lessons or something else harmless. Let them think that. The public library was bright and watched. All polished shelves and filtered light. A place designed to look impressive but teach nothing real. The real library-the one whispered about in old letters and locked behind vague warnings-was buried deeper. Elaria walked with purpose now, her steps silent but sure.

She passed through a quiet hall lined with faded oil portraits-dead kings and their dead wives-and stopped before a long tapestry of the First Queen. The one who'd burned an empire to its knees and smiled through it all. She lifted the edge. Behind it, hidden in plain sight, was a narrow stairwell. Cold. Twisting. The Forbidden Wing wasn't marked. It didn't need to be. Everyone with power already knew what it held. And everyone else was safer not knowing. The air below smelled of ash and parchment. Damp stone and dust. Magic locked up so long it didn't know how to die. Her steps echoed down the stairwell like they were waking something. Shelves stretched into the dark. Not neat like the upper floors-this was chaos. Books stacked sideways. Crammed into corners. Some wrapped in chains. Others sealed with melted wax and rusted clasps. A few had warnings scrawled on the covers in red ink-or blood. One whispered when she passed. Another pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. She didn't flinch. Not even when a cold whisper skimmed her thoughts, tasting for fear. She moved deeper. Toward a low shelf tucked behind an iron column. Toward the book that called to her. Bloodline Bonds and Ancient Fires. Cracked black leather. Silver corners dulled by time. The cover burned warm in her hands. She opened it. Symbols bled at the edges of the page-ink that shifted when she tried to read too fast. Some words glowed red. Others blinked out when she blinked. Her fingers paused over a sigil. A flame carved inside a circle, flanked by two wings. It hummed. Not like magic. Like memory. Like something she'd known once, maybe in another life. Her thumb twitched. She didn't know if it was recognition-or fear. The last page held only one line: Not all fire starts from flame. She closed the book slowly. Didn't breathe for a moment. Not because she was afraid-but because, for the first time since waking up in this life, something felt right. ⸻ Meanwhile, in the greenhouse, Seren was causing problems again. The maid she was scolding-Tina-looked barely fourteen. Hands still wet from watering pots. Eyes wide and shiny. "These were made in Velis," Seren snapped, pointing at her soaked velvet slippers. "Do you even know what they cost?" "I-I'm sorry-" "You're always sorry," Seren hissed. "Maybe if I break your fingers, you'll remember not to spill-" "That's enough," Elaria said from behind her. Tina looked up like someone had yanked her out of water. "You're needed in the dining hall," Elaria told her, voice calm. "Go." Tina fled like she'd been given permission to live. Seren turned, slow and smug. "You're interrupting again." "She's not your servant." "Since when do you speak for the staff?" Elaria stepped forward. "Since I stopped pretending to be afraid of you." Seren froze. Just for a moment. Just enough. "You think you're ready for Kael?" Seren said. "He's not gentle." "I don't need gentle." Seren smiled-sweet as venom. "When he's done with you, I'll be there to help him clean up." Elaria didn't blink. "Funny. That's what you said last time. And you still ended up with nothing." Seren confused.. But didn't speak again. Elaria turned and walked away. No shouting. No drama. She was learning that silence cut deeper. ⸻ That night, the dagger sat on her desk. The black book was hidden beneath her bed. Elaria stood at the window, fingers pressed to the glass. The moon was shrinking, bleeding into nothing. The new moon was close. She'd be leaving soon. Not just the palace. Not just the life they picked. She was leaving the girl who obeyed. Smiled. Let herself be carved up by pretty girls, cold mothers, and men with too many titles. This time, she'd be the one with power. She picked up the blade again. Candlelight kissed the metal. The edge gleamed like a promise. She whispered, almost to herself, "Let them think I'm soft." Then she smiled. "They'll see." She pressed the point to her palm-not to cut, just enough to feel the weight. This body wasn't weak. It was waiting. This power wasn't lost. It was locked. And she wasn't broken. She was reborn.