The war room had emptied, but Seraphina remained behind, her fingers pressed against the cold stone windowsill as she stared down at the black tide of the sea. The message from her uncle still lay open on the table behind her, as if daring her to pretend it was a nightmare. But it wasn't. Her blood betrayed her.
Auren stood a few paces away, silent as a shadow. He hadn't pressed her—not when the message arrived, not when she gripped the dagger on her belt as though debating whether to throw it or turn it on herself.
"What would you do," she said finally, voice hoarse, "if the person who once tucked you into bed now threatens to burn your kingdom to ash?"
Auren didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet. "I would make sure I struck first."
Seraphina's jaw tightened. "He raised me like his own. After my father died, he swore to protect the throne."
"Men like him don't protect thrones. They covet them." He stepped closer. "And they always make you love them first. That's the cruelest part."
She turned to face him then, and for a moment the fire in her eyes wasn't rage—it was grief, raw and unguarded.
Before she could respond, the doors slammed open.
Captain Nyra stormed in, armor clinking, face grim. "Highness. The port isn't the only loss. Ravens from Valemire confirm—your cousin Leontis was captured. The Tribunal has taken the harbor and the sea walls. They're moving faster than we predicted."
Auren's mind leapt ahead, connecting pieces like a storm-sworn game board. "That means they already had the port compromised. They're likely inside our supply lines."
Nyra nodded. "We found Tribunal sigils carved into the cargo crates. They've been here longer than we thought."
Seraphina stepped forward, the fire returning. "How many men do we still control in the south?"
"Less than five hundred. Scattered."
"Send word to regroup in Ironwatch. We hold the mountain pass—if we lose it, they march straight to the capital."
Nyra saluted and rushed out, leaving them in silence again.
Seraphina exhaled, every breath now a calculation.
"We don't have time to wait for council approval," she said. "The Tribunal will push through the southern corridor within days. I need to ride south. Myself."
Auren's expression barely changed, but his voice lowered. "You mean to bait your uncle into open battle."
"He won't expect me to come. He'll think I'm still licking wounds in this tower."
"You're the heir to the Duskfire throne, Seraphina. If you fall—"
"Then someone else will rise. But I won't be the princess who watched her home crumble from a gilded tower."
Auren stepped into her path, gaze hard. "Then I'm coming with you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You'd abandon your network here? The whispers you've worked so hard to gather?"
"I built those webs for this exact moment." He paused. "And I don't trust anyone else to guard your back."
She stared at him a moment longer, then gave a single nod.
They rode at dawn.
The southern road was soaked with the scent of rot and iron. Smoke billowed in distant columns, and the closer they came to the port, the more burned villages they passed. Farms razed. Wells poisoned.
They reached Ironwatch by dusk on the second day, a small fortress built into the mountain spine. Its defenses were meager, its garrison outnumbered. But its position—high, narrow, and fierce—could turn tides.
As Seraphina walked the battlements with Auren, she studied the peaks beyond.
"They'll try to breach through the Ravenspine cliffs. They'll think it's the least defended point."
"Because it is," Auren said.
Seraphina smirked. "Then we'll let them believe they're right."
That night, as soldiers prepared oil cauldrons and archers lined the walls, Auren slipped away into the shadows. Seraphina found him in the command tent an hour later, poring over old maps and drawing lines with red ink.
"You look like a man planning a funeral," she said softly.
"Only for the men foolish enough to think you're cornered."
She crossed to him, close enough to smell the ink and smoke on his skin. "You were right," she said. "About all of it. The Tribunal. My uncle. Even the quarry ambush."
Auren looked up. "That's not a comfort to me."
"It should be."
He hesitated. "Why?"
"Because I trust you." She held his gaze. "And that's not something I say easily."
He stepped toward her, slowly, deliberately. "Then hear me when I say this: if the worst comes—if the walls fall—I'll buy you time."
Her breath caught. "Don't you dare."
But before she could say more, a horn blared from the southern cliffs.
Both of them turned sharply.
Seconds later, a scout burst into the tent, eyes wide with panic. "Highness—Strategist—the Ravenspine tunnels have been breached. They're inside the cliffs!"
"How?" Seraphina barked. "We had no word!"
The scout shook. "Someone… someone opened the gates from within. It was sabotage. The guards were dead before they could send the raven."
Auren's mind spun. "They had help. Someone in Ironwatch betrayed us."
Seraphina grabbed her blade. "Then we hold the inner courtyard. If they want the fortress, they'll have to bleed for it."
They raced through narrow stone halls, soldiers shouting, flames crackling. The battle had already begun—steel clashing, arrows slicing the air. The Tribunal's forces moved like a tide, armored in silver and dark red, their faces hidden behind veils of iron.
At the heart of the chaos, Seraphina fought like fire made flesh. Auren stayed at her flank, his dagger flashing as he cut down attackers with practiced precision. Every move was orchestrated—two bodies moving as one.
But then he saw it.
A figure cloaked in midnight—moving against the current of the battlefield. Unharmed. Untouched.
The same figure who had slit the throat of the old king in Auren's past life. The same man who had whispered betrayal into the ears of empires.
"Stay with the troops!" Auren shouted to Seraphina.
"What—?"
But he was already gone, chasing the shadow through smoke and ruin, down into the abandoned catacombs beneath Ironwatch.
The tunnels were cold and tight, dripping with moisture and old secrets. He could hear the footfalls ahead. And then—nothing.
Silence.
Until a whisper cut through the dark.
"Well, well. Still chasing ghosts, Valen?"
Auren stopped, blood turning to ice. "I killed you."
"You tried," the voice purred. "And yet… here I stand. Death is such a temporary thing, don't you think?"
A blade sang from the dark.
Auren ducked just in time—but the dagger sliced across his shoulder.
He rolled, struck back, but the shadow was already gone, dancing through the tunnels like mist.
But not before leaving a message carved into the stone with a flick of his blade:
"She will burn. And you will watch."
Blood dripping, heart pounding, Auren staggered back toward the light—toward the fortress, and Seraphina.
But when he emerged, the inner gates were broken. Tribunal banners rose high. And in the distance, through smoke and fire—
He saw Seraphina on her knees, a blade at her throat.
"NO—!"
He surged forward, but the last thing he saw before the crossbow bolt slammed into his side was her eyes—wide, unyielding, full of fire.
Then, darkness.