Lucien wasn't in his study, Or the west hall. Or the terrace. Or any of the places Seraphina had come to expect him to haunt.
He wasn't in the house at all. Which left only one place.
The greenhouse.
She stepped outside into the cold post storm air, skirts swishing around her ankles. The scent of rain and lavender clung to the garden like memory. Lanterns flickered low across the cobbled path, lighting her way past beds of half wild herbs and moonflowers that only bloomed for blood.
The greenhouse sat like a glass heart at the center of the garden, ancient, veined, and still dripping from the storm.
She pushed open the door. Lucien stood inside, sleeves rolled up, one hand braced against the frame of a shattered planter. Dirt clung to his palms. There were burn marks on the floor.
And across from him . leaning against the low marble bench like he'd always belonged there, was Riven.
Seraphina froze.
No one spoke.
The air between the two men hummed with power. Not the showy kind, The kind that vibrated just under the skin. Lucien didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on Riven.
"I should have known it was you," he said, voice low and precise.
Riven smiled like he wasn't impressed. "The feeling's mutual."
You were always good at crawling out of your own grave.
"And you were always good at digging them."
The glass creaked around them as the tension swelled.
"Enough," Seraphina snapped, stepping forward. "You want to kill each other? Fine. But not in my greenhouse."
Lucien's eyes finally slid to hers. They were cold. "You didn't tell me you had a history with him."
"I didn't think you deserved to know yet."
Riven chuckled. "That's the Bells I remember."
Lucien stepped toward her, slow and dangerous. "He called you that again."
Seraphina held her ground. "Because that's who I was. Before I became your wife. Before I let you burn me."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "You think I'm the one who did it."
I know you were there.
And I know what you don't remember, he shot back.
That silenced her.
Even Riven stilled.
Lucien turned fully to her now. "You think this is about betrayal. About fire and ashes. But it was never that simple.
"Then explain it," she whispered.
Lucien looked at Riven.
"No," she said quickly. "You. I want to hear it from you, Lucien."
He looked like he wanted to refuse. But then he sighed. And said the one thing she never expected
"You weren't supposed to die."
"I was sent to watch you," Lucien began. "You and your coven. You were too powerful. Too quiet. The Council didn't like it."
He leaned against the glass wall, rain still tapping above them.
"But I didn't report back. Not after I met you. I told them you weren't a threat.
"You lied," Riven said darkly.
Lucien ignored him. "They decided to burn the compound anyway. Said it was a preventive strike. And I…I made a choice."
He looked at her.
I tried to save you.
No one came, Seraphina whispered. "No alarms. No help. We were trapped inside our own sanctuary."
Lucien's voice cracked for the first time. "I set fire to the eastern wall. It was the only way to break the blood wards and let you out. I didn't know you were in the western chamber."
Seraphina shook her head. "That's not how I remember it."
You don't remember it, he said. Not fully.
Silence.
Then Riven stepped forward. Even if that's true, it doesn't make you innocent.
"I'm not," Lucien said. "But I'm not your enemy, either.
His eyes met Seraphina's again. Tired. Raw.
"I didn't expect to see you again in this life. Let alone marry you."
And now? she asked.
Lucien stepped closer. "Now I see you every day. And I wonder how much of the woman I failed is still behind your eyes."
That stopped her breath.
Her magic stirred at her fingertips. She hadn't meant to let it rise but it wanted to be seen.
Riven stepped between them, tension flaring. "You're not getting her sympathy, Vale."
I'm not asking for it,Lucien growled. But she deserves the truth.
Seraphina raised a hand. Magic crackled softly between her fingers. "Both of you out. Now."
Riven turned to her. "Bells"
"I need space," she said quietly. "And you're both too loud."
They left. Eventually.
But the echoes of the past stayed with her.
Seraphina stood alone in the greenhouse, heart pounding. Rain streaked the glass. The flowers bent under its weight.
She felt fractured, Like three women at once:
The witch who burned, The wife who woke up in a stranger's body, The woman who wanted to trust and was terrified it might cost her everything again.
And for the first time in this new life, she let herself cry.
That night, Lucien didn't appear for dinner. Not in the library. Not in the halls.
But Seraphina didn't go looking.
Instead, she lit a single candle in her room and pulled out the book. the one with her old name.
She flipped to a page deep in the middle.
It was blank.
But as the candle flickered, words began to appear:
You are the flame they could not drown.
You are not alone.
He remembers more than he admits.
She stared at the page until the words faded.
Then someone knocked.
Soft, Hesitant.
She opened the door.
Lucien stood there. Barefoot. No coat. Hair tousled. Eyes shadowed and unreadable.
I shouldn't be here, he said.
"You already are."
He hesitated. "May I come in?"
She stepped aside.
They didn't touch, Not at first.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch, like mirrors. Lucien leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
"I see pieces," he said finally. "Of that night. Of you. I thought they were dreams."
"They weren't."
He nodded. "And now I don't know what's worse , forgetting, or remembering too late."
Seraphina's voice was quiet. "Do you regret marrying me?"
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"No," he said. "I regret not knowing who you were. Who you still are."
Her breath caught.
He reached across the space between them, but didn't touch her. Just held his hand open, palm up.
"I don't want to be your jailer," he said. "Or your enemy. Just… let me be something true." Her fingers hovered above his.
Then, gently,they landed in his palm.
Warm. Human.
And electric. A soft glow pulsed where their skin met, gold and crimson, Old magic, Recognition. Lucien looked at her in wonder. "You're waking up."
"So are you," she whispered.
The glow faded.
But the shift remained.
Something between them had changed. Not healed. Not fixed. But, opened.