There was no mercy left in the Rose Court. Only cold smiles and heavy lies.
The wood under Seraphina's feet cracked as the fire crept closer. Chains dug into her wrists and ankles. Her gown, once white and beautiful, was stained with soot and ash. Above her, the banners of House D'Lorien hung limp and burned.
The heat blurred her vision. Every breath hurt. Her chest rose and fell fast, but she stood tall. Around her stood the nobles who had once cheered for her. Now, they looked away. Their faces were calm and blank. The same people who had sworn loyalty when she ascended to being Duchess, now they wanted her gone.
She had trusted them. That had been her first mistake.
At the front stood Alaric Vessant. Her husband. The man she once thought she could trust. She had believed he loved her. But he loved ambition more.
Everything—the courtship, the vows, the shared plans had been a lie.
He stood there now in his crimson cloak, acting like he had won. Evelyne Malenthra stood beside him. Pretending to cry for her beloved cousin. But she let slip for a moment a reaction of satisfaction. Her smile was quiet, smug.
Off to the side stood Caelan Vorenthal, Warden General. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He wore the half-mask he always wore, a man hard to read. They had never exchanged more than a few words before this. Still, Seraphina had heard enough. He was honest. Steady. A rival to Alaric, the kind that made Alaric feel small.
Alaric had hated that.
And through the smoke, Seraphina saw Caelan watching. His expression didn't change, but she saw something in his eyes—anger, sadness, maybe even guilt.
He knew what was happening. And he couldn't stop it.
That stuck with her. That someone had seen the truth.
----
The Royal Justiciar stepped forward. His voice was firm.
"Seraphina D'Lorien, for treason, sorcery, and betrayal, you are sentenced to death by flame."
No protest. No outcry. Just the shuffle of robes and the watching silence.
They pulled her away from the platform, dragging her down into the cold stone tunnels under the court. The air smelled of wet stone and smoke. The chains rattled as they moved.
They left her in a locked chamber. No windows. Just a faint light and the echoes of fire above.
She didn't know how long she sat there before Evelyne arrived.
No guards followed. Just her. Her footsteps quiet on the stone.
Seraphina sat slumped against the wall. Her throat burned. She looked up slowly.
"Please," she said. "If you ever cared about me, if you ever meant a word, help me. If not for me, then for the child I carry."
Evelyne paused. Then she stepped closer, her face calm.
"You still don't understand," Evelyne said. "You were never meant to win."
She reached out and touched Seraphina's stomach.
"You're not the only one carrying a future," she said softly. "Alaric's child is growing inside me. And unlike yours, mine will survive."
Seraphina felt the weight of it hit her all at once.
Evelyne had lied. Every smile, every shared secret, every moment between them—it had all been fake.
The pain twisted into something harder. Colder.
Rage.
"Goodbye, cousin," Evelyne said.
She turned and left. The cell was silent again.
Seraphina pressed her head back against the wall. Her arms hurt. Her legs were sore. But it was the betrayal that stung the most.
She didn't cry. She couldn't. The anger had dried up every tear she had left.
They brought her back up. The sky above the pyre was dark. The fire was ready. The crowd still waited.
The executioner held a torch.
She looked around. Faces stared at her, blurred by smoke.
This was it.
She took one breath. Deep. Steady.
And then she heard it.
A voice in her head. Clear. Familiar.
Her mother's voice.
"By blood unbroken, by flame unquenched, Let the wheel turn, let fate be wrenched. Undo the hour, reclaim the flame, Let the ash bear my true name."
The torch dropped.
The fire rose up.
Pain hit her all at once. Bright. Unstoppable. The world became heat and screaming. She thought she heard Evelyne laughing.
And then...
Nothing.
------
She woke up gasping. Her lungs filled with clean air.
She was lying in her own bed. No chains. No flames. The room smelled like lilac. Her room, exactly as it had been.
She looked around. Everything looked normal. But it wasn't. She remembered dying.
She stood, unsteady, and crossed the room. Her legs shook. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Same face. Same features.
But her eyes were different.
They remembered.
The fire.
She lifted her hand and pressed it to her stomach. Flat. Empty. There was no child this time.
And that was a relief.
She didn't want another innocent tangled in this mess.
In another life, she might have clung to the dream of that child, no matter how black the father's soul had been.
But not this time.
She stood for a long time, breathing, thinking. Trying to understand what had happened.
Had she traveled back in time? Had someone saved her?
It didn't matter how.
What mattered was that she had another chance.
She wasn't safe yet, but she was no longer burning. And that was something.
She walked slowly through the chamber. Everything was where she had left it. Her old cloak. The perfume bottle by the mirror. The books lined up neatly on the shelf.
Too neatly.
She reached out and knocked one of them over. It clattered softly.
She needed that sound—proof that she was here. That this was real.
Her name still held value. Alaric had let her keep it because it made him look better. A living D'Lorien by his side gave him power. And she had let him believe it gave her safety.
Now she knew better.
She would use the days ahead carefully. This time, she wouldn't be passive. She wouldn't trust too easily.
She remembered how they had watched her burn. How they had turned away. Not one voice raised in protest.
She had been a pawn.
Now, she would be something else entirely.
She walked to the window and looked out. The sun was just starting to rise.
Somewhere out there, Evelyne was still smiling.
Alaric was still pretending to be a loving husband.
And the court still whispered behind polished doors.
They had no idea she was awake.
No idea that the fire had failed.
She turned back to the mirror.
Her eyes were calm.
This time, she would strike first.
And she would not miss.