Chapter 26 #2
The nails taper into fine, dagger-like points, elegant in form. The crimson polish gleams against the darkened tips of my fingers, catching the candlelight like blood on obsidian. I turn my hands in admiration, and decide that this isn’t vanity. It’s preparation.
Tonight, I will walk into that ballroom surrounded by enemies. Every smile will be a test, every glance a judgment. Beauty alone will not be enough. I will need presence, control, and power.
The dress clings to me as if it was made from raging fire and tailored for war. Crimson fabric traces every line of my body, threaded with a sheen of black that shifts like embers stirring in ash. The neckline plunges low and provocative.
With each step, the high slits part and the hem flares around my legs like flames licking the floor.
At my waist rests the whip Eva gave me, secured in a custom hook on a black leather belt, which seems to be the core of this look, the weapon that binds the entire image together.
Then there is the choker: a slim band of black leather encircling my throat, etched with the same thorned motif. At its center, a single blood-red gemstone glows, catching the light.
I take in the full image—the dress, the whip, the choker—and the woman in the mirror. I’m no longer someone pretending to be powerful.
I am powerful because I chose to be.
The challenges are still unfolding. The gods are still watching. The people are still deciding. But Kaelzar is the one who struck the match. Now I carry the fire.
A knock at the door breaks the silence. It creaks open, and Eva steps in, dressed in emerald silk, her hair swept up with silver combs. She stops mid-step, her eyes wide.
“You look like a queen,” she breathes.
“No,” I murmur, turning back to the mirror. My gaze locks with the reflection staring back. “Not a queen. An Archpriestess.”
We step into the hall outside my chambers, where the world glows crimson. The Bleeding Moon phenomenon casts everything in red hues, tinting walls and faces with its eerie light as it slips through the windows.
The crimson blends with the warm gold of the massive chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and the soft candlelight nestled in every crevice and nook. The effect should feel harsh—ominous, even—but instead, it wraps the world in strange beauty.
For today, it feels as though magic has been threaded into every seam of the palace.
Two royal guards wait outside my chambers, and though I expected them, a small pinch of disappointment prickles under my skin at the realization that Ryker didn’t come for me himself.
The feeling is faint though, barely worth naming, like stepping into a day of blistering sun with an umbrella already in hand. I anticipated this. I came prepared. The discomfort doesn’t reach me.
This is no longer a courtship, I remind myself. At least, not for me. This is a rescue mission, plain and simple.
Ryker is no longer the man I once imagined a life beside, but he is still someone I care for—naive, stubborn, and entirely unaware of the danger closing in around him.
Eva and I walk the palace corridors arm in arm, our elbows linked. We even manage a few quiet giggles at the scandalized looks cast our way by nobles heading in the same direction, until a smooth voice I’ve come to despise unfurls behind us.
“Well, isn’t this a sight,” Mael drawls, his tone light and amused, as though all that passed between us was nothing more than a careless jest. “A failed queen embracing her fate. And dressing accordingly.”
A bitter taste rises in my throat as I realize that the nickname Seraphina gave me is starting to catch on.
We both stop, turning to face him in perfect unison.
Mael’s dressed like a prince out of a storybook. His ensemble is glossy, burnished brown. His eyepatch is ornate, fashioned from the same fabric, shaped into a dragon’s wing. His dark hair, tousled in a way that pretends not to care, has clearly been arranged with obsessive precision.
Eva exhales sharply. “Bless the gods for the half-sight you still have, Mael.” She flashes a radiant toothy smile.
I half expect his smirk to falter, for him to retaliate with some cold insult or condescending bite. But instead, he laughs—genuinely, infuriatingly—and before I can stop him, he strides forward and takes my free arm, linking it through his as though nothing at all is wrong between us.
I recoil instinctively, a jolt of magic flaring beneath my skin, almost slipping free. The few seconds it takes me to steady my grip on it are all he needs to begin walking, pulling both Eva and me along beside him.
By the time I collect myself, we are already in motion. I try to pull away, but his other hand clasps over mine, his fingers pressing deliberately over my blackened ones.
“Come now,” he murmurs, voice low enough to make it sound intimate. “What better time for old wounds to be forgotten than beneath the blood-drenched sky of the Bleeding Moon?”
I grind my teeth and glance at the guards just behind us, then at the nobles all around watching, absorbing our every move, eager to twist the slightest oddity into a scandalous piece of gossip.
They don’t know it was Mael who caused my Crimson Tether, so to them, the sight of us walking together is nothing unusual. After all, we’ve done it many times before.
So I concede, if only to avoid making a scene now that things between Ryker and me finally seem to have smoothed out.
“How generous of you to offer peace, Mael,” I say. “While holding the very hand you once tried to sever.”
“Oh. Ray,” Eva murmurs, leaning in with a pointed glare in Mael’s direction, “have you not learned this about our prince? He’s always believed wounds are more beautiful while they’re still bleeding.”
Mael squeezes my hand more tightly, his shoulder lifting in a gesture of theatrical delight.
“This is what I’ll miss most when you eventually lose,” he says cheerfully.
“These charming little exchanges.” He exhales, then shakes his head as if overcome by wistful nostalgia.
“Life at court is so dull. But you two always kept it interesting. Especially once you”—he glances down at me, gaze lingering far too long on my mouth—“finally gave in to your forbidden appetites.”
His voice lowers to a whisper as he leans in. “Three red locks, Ray?” he murmurs. “Did I bring out the wicked little sinner hiding underneath?”
My mind goes still.
So completely, so utterly, that for a breathless moment I’m certain my blood has stopped flowing. And yet my legs keep moving, stiff and mechanical, as though some buried instinct is dragging me forward while the rest of me fractures beneath my skin.
He notices, of course. A slow, indulgent smile curls at his lips as he exhales.
“Forgive my big mouth,” he says, tone mockingly apologetic.
“I just couldn’t help myself.” His breath brushes my ear, every word sliding into me like smoke through a cracked wall.
Then he chuckles, catching the shift in me.
“Ah, don’t get confused. I meant this comment, not the use of my mouth that night… ”
His voice drops even lower. “You tasted incredible,” he murmurs. “That’s the part I won’t apologize for.” He inhales, savoring the memory like a fine vintage. “Tearing myself away took everything. But you know me, I’m known for my restraint. Even when stopping feels… impossible.”
The weight of what he’s just said crashes over me, and for a moment, it paralyzes me completely.
My steps falter, then stop so abruptly that both Eva and Mael release my arms. Though something in me knows Mael let go deliberately. If he hadn’t wanted to, he would have clung tighter, like a tick that would sooner tear its own head off than loosen its grip on a meal.
Eva turns to me at once, her concern sharp, then cuts her glare toward Mael. “What did you say this time?” she snaps.
A wave of revulsion rises. I feel it in my throat, behind my eyes, under my skin.
The pricking in my eyes spreads like heat across my body, seeping inward and outward all at once. My magic ripples beneath my surface—erratic, unstable—surging forward to exploit my unraveling.
I’m seconds away from losing control, seconds from sobbing, screaming, unleashing everything I’ve been holding back.
I try to breathe, but my chest won’t expand. It’s too tight, too clenched to let in enough air. I dig my nails into my sides, silently begging the magic to halt.
But it’s useless. So useless.
Just as I feel myself slipping on the verge of a scream that would split the air and crack the world, my frantic gaze catches movement at the edge of the corridor. A soldier, half-hidden behind the curve of the stone wall, stands waiting in full stone-forged armor.
He isn’t guarding, he’s lying in wait. Poised. Ready. His Borrowglass glints faintly at his chest with whatever magic Zyrel must have infused it with. And in that instant, I understand.
Another trap. Orchestrated by Mael with meticulous care. Another attempt to discredit me, to erase me. One violent burst of magic, one public display of divine power outside the boundaries of the Trial, and I would be disqualified. Removed.
He knew exactly which thread to tug to unravel me.
The realization strikes so hard that it knocks the breath back into my lungs. And before I can stop myself, before anyone can say a word, I burst into laughter.
It’s sharp, cracked at the edges, skirting the line of hysteria. “You’re good,” I say through the laughter, holding my stomach.
My magic, as stunned as everyone else, coils back in retreat, perhaps realizing I’m far too unhinged to be around even by its standards.
“You almost had me.” I wipe a single tear that gathered at the corner of my eye. “But there are only so many times you get to fool me.”
Eva nods, as if we’d rehearsed this moment together, though I’m sure she has no idea what just happened.
“Now that we’ve got that sorted,” Eva says, voice smooth as silk stretched over steel, “kindly get out of our way. The king is waiting.”
When Mael doesn’t move, she tilts her head, grimacing with mock pity.
“Mael, you already gave one eye to earn your brother’s forgiveness.
If we’re late because of another scandal with your name on it…
” She lets the weight of the pause settle, then adds with a venom-laced smile, “You’ve only got one eye left to spare for another grand apology. Use it wisely.”
My laughter has subsided, but the wide crazed smile still sits firmly on my lips as Eva pulls me around Mael.
I can’t believe he’d attempt this, and I can’t believe I caught it. Did I finally grow into a Champion… no, a woman, capable of recognizing the threat before it’s too late?
And as we’re leaving, Mael’s mask finally cracks. His voice cuts through the air. “You will never win, Raylane.”
I stop. Breathe.
Then pivot, heels striking the marble like war drums. I march to him, closing the space until only breath fits between us. I lean in, smile cold and slow.
“You praised my taste as if it were yours to sample,” I whisper. “Well, know this. What you tasted was the flavor of victory. And that’s all you’ll ever get. Just one. Small. Taste.”
His lips part—maybe to deny my claim, maybe to spin another lie.
I spit right into his open mouth.
He reels back, choking, gagging, spitting onto the floor in disgust. I watch in silence for a long moment. Then I turn, spine straight, head high, and walk away.