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## **Chapter 10: How to Bury a Saint**
The morning after the Royal Ball dawned with velvet fog and silence—the kind of silence that only existed in places too gilded to admit unrest. In the private estate of House de Alvere, however, that stillness was being murdered by an argument in progress.
"You bribed the orchestra conductor," Felix said flatly.
"Bribed is such an ugly word." Seraphina didn't look up from her tea. "I prefer *commissioned with urgency*."
Felix stood with his arms crossed, a rare crease in his immaculate sleeves. "So they would switch the closing waltz to *A Dagger in Bloom*. A song banned from royal occasions for being a coded revolutionary hymn."
Seraphina sipped her tea. "Exactly. Delightfully symbolic, don't you think?"
"And what *exactly* did you hope to accomplish?"
She smiled over the rim of her cup. "Why, to remind the court I'm not finished dancing."
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### Elsewhere in the city—deep below the Temple of the Dawn Saint
The temple was older than most records admitted—built over the bones of forgotten gods, whitewashed into purity. Pilgrims lit incense; priests chanted. But below the sacred halls, in a room not marked on any blueprint, a conversation took place in whispers and shadows.
"She's stirring the nobles again," murmured High Vicar Langris.
"She always was troublesome," replied another voice—female, laced with contempt.
"Troublesome, and dying," Langris reminded her.
"But not quickly enough."
The woman stepped into the candlelight, revealing gold-trimmed robes and a veil so sheer it served only vanity.
"She was supposed to fade," the woman said. "Grief-stricken. Isolated. Quiet."
"She's a flame, not a candle," Langris muttered. "The more wax you pour, the higher it burns."
The woman's voice turned to steel. "Then we snuff it. Before she ruins everything we've planted."
Langris didn't argue.
Not because he agreed—but because he *feared* Seraphina more than he feared the gods.
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### Back at House de Alvere
Seraphina stared at the chronicle again that afternoon. Her fingers ghosted over the line she hated most:
> *"The Duchess Seraphina was convicted of heresy against the Church and treason against the Crown."*
A double-edged execution. The Saint and the Sovereign, united against her.
It had taken her three months to verify the book wasn't a prank or illusion. Seven hidden errors matched the court's sealed archives. The parchment bore an ink only known to the royal archivist—who died mysteriously last year. And most damning of all, it knew **when** she would die.
**Frostmere. Eleven months from now.**
"How do you bury a saint?" Seraphina murmured aloud.
Felix appeared in the doorway. "With gloves and lies."
She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Fetch me a list of every orphanage funded by the Church. I want to know where their gold flows."
Felix blinked. "You're going after the Saint?"
"Not directly. Not yet. But let's start pulling threads. Let's see what *charity* looks like up close."
"And the Crown?"
"They'll wait. The Church won't. The story of my death begins with a prayer, not a sword."
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### Later That Night: A Letter in a Locked Box
Adrien Valcorne received an unsigned letter sealed with wax pressed from the edge of a serpent's fang.
He opened it in private, at his family's estate, away from prying eyes.
> *There are no saints in this kingdom. Only well-dressed monsters and better liars.*
>
> *If you want the truth, come to the old apothecary on Rue Margrave at midnight tomorrow.*
>
> *Bring no guards. Bring no friends. But bring wine. You'll need it.*
Adrien read it twice, then leaned back in his chair, exhaling.
"She's unraveling something," he murmured. "Or she's preparing to burn the whole tapestry."
He smiled grimly to himself.
Either way, it would be a beautiful disaster.
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### In the Cathedral, the Saint Prayed Alone
High Lady Serene—the living Saint of the Kingdom, chosen vessel of the divine—knelt before the altar of white lilies. Her hands were folded. Her posture perfect.
Her thoughts, however, were not holy.
"She's still moving pieces," she said aloud to the empty hall. "The Duchess."
Behind her, a quiet voice responded.
"Yes, my lady. She suspects."
"Then it's time," Serene said, rising. "To remind her why saints are feared."
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**End of Chapter 10**