Three days passed.
Each dawn brought more tension, as though the palace itself held its breath. The Court of Blades—a council of Vireth's most powerful noble houses—was assembling, and with it came danger draped in silks, smiles, and poisoned intentions.
Corvin stood in Serenya's chambers as she prepared. He adjusted the clasp of her black-and-gold cloak, voice low and clipped.
"You'll be walking into a den of vipers."
"I've already been there," Serenya replied calmly. "This time, I'm bringing a knife."
She tucked the Queen's dagger into her belt beneath the folds of her gown. Her phoenix pin shimmered on her shoulder, embers dancing like a heartbeat.
"If they push, push back," Corvin said. "If they flatter you, don't believe a word. And if anyone mentions 'tradition'—"
"—stab them with metaphor, not steel," she finished. "I remember."
He gave a rare smile. "You're learning."
—
The Court of Blades gathered beneath a great domed chamber, ringed with stone thrones carved with each noble House's sigil: lions, serpents, falcons, and more. At the heart of it stood a raised dais where Queen Virelya sat, calm and untouchable in her iron-lined gown.
Every seat was filled. Whispers fluttered like moths.
Then a voice rang out.
"Presenting Lady Serenya Solmar, Flameborn of the Vault, Heir of Fire."
The hall fell silent.
Serenya stepped forward, her chin high, cloak trailing behind her like a shadow of war. Every step echoed. Every eye watched. She met each gaze with steel.
She stopped before the Queen's throne and bowed—not deeply.
Not like a servant.
When she rose, she turned to face the court.
Lord Varyn of House Thorne, his silver hair bound in braids, leaned forward first.
"We've heard of your… trial," he said, his voice like frost. "But many of us wonder—what makes a girl of ashes worthy to stand among the flameblooded?"
Whispers surged.
Serenya stepped forward.
"I walked into a place that kills kings and left with fire in my veins. I don't need to be born into power to prove I can wield it."
Lady Nyssra of House Vire, a golden-eyed woman with rings on every finger, laughed softly. "Spoken like a flame eager to burn. But flames fade. Bloodline does not."
Serenya's voice stayed firm. "Bloodline forged this kingdom, but fire keeps it alive."
A low murmur of approval rippled through part of the court.
Then, from the far end of the circle, a voice cut through:
"Tell us, Flameborn—if power is what you seek, what will you do with it?"
Serenya turned. Kaelith.
Unmasked now, dressed in the colors of House Solmar, he lounged in his seat like a bored specter—but his silver eyes were sharp.
The entire court waited.
Serenya stepped to the center of the circle.
"I don't seek power," she said. "I seek truth."
The nobles exchanged looks—some mocking, others intrigued.
"Truth," Serenya continued, "that this court has forgotten the people it was meant to protect. That noble titles don't make noble hearts. That you play games with crowns while the kingdom starves in shadow."
Virelya's gaze didn't waver. She neither smiled nor frowned.
Serenya's voice rose, slow and clear.
"I didn't come to beg for a seat. I came to remind you what a Solmar looks like when the fire isn't controlled. If you accept me, I'll serve this kingdom. If you don't—then I'll burn my own path."
Silence.
Then Kael laughed once. "Well then."
Lord Varyn stood. "Is that a threat, girl?"
"It's a promise," Serenya said.
Virelya rose, finally. Her voice was soft but absolute.
"The court has heard your words. You will be watched, tested… but for now, you remain under the protection of this House."
The meeting was adjourned.
Serenya turned to leave—but as she walked past Kaelith's seat, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear:
"Careful, Flameborn. The court might admire your fire—but they'll still douse it the moment it becomes inconvenient."
She didn't answer.
But as she left the chamber, the embers in her wake left scorch marks on the marble floor.