Dawn arrived, but the manor did not wake with it.
The sky outside Ashwyn Hall was still draped in mist, and even the birds remained silent. Something had shifted in the air — not weather, not sleep, but something older. Something wrong.
Seraphina sensed it the moment she opened her eyes.
It wasn't the dream that had shaken her this time — but the silence. A kind of silence that clung to walls and skin like frost.
Then came the knock.
Urgent. Uneven. The kind of knock that always meant blood.
"My lady!" Mary burst into the room, her face pale, her hands trembling. "It's Elise! One of the maids. She—she's not waking."
Seraphina threw on her robe and followed without question.
They found Elise lying near the laundry wing, curled up like a child. Her lips were blue, her skin damp with sweat despite the chill.
And on her right palm—a mark.
Seraphina knelt, heart hammering. The rune burned red against the girl's pale skin, still fresh, as if etched with fire.
But she knew that shape.
She'd seen it on Lucien's gloves.
"She was fine yesterday," Mary whispered. "She was laughing with the other girls—then this morning, she's like this."
Seraphina touched the girl's forehead. Cold. Unresponsive.
"She's breathing," she murmured. "But it's shallow."
Mary looked as if she might cry. "Is it a curse?"
Seraphina rose to her feet slowly. "No."
"But—"
"It's a message."
Mary blinked. "From who?"
Seraphina's voice was quiet, bitter. "From the man who says he regrets watching me die."
She found Lucien in the east garden, cloaked in black, hands behind his back, his expression as calm as the breeze.
"You marked her," Seraphina said without preamble.
His gaze didn't waver. "No, I didn't."
She stepped forward. "Then how do you explain the rune?"
"I didn't touch the girl."
"But the rune is the same. It's yours."
Lucien turned fully toward her now. "It's not mine."
She froze. "What?"
"It's not mine, Seraphina. It's a counterfeit. A variation of my seal."
"You're saying someone's copying you?"
"I'm saying someone is using my name to reach you."
She folded her arms, every nerve in her body on edge. "Why now?"
"Because you've returned," he said simply. "And the crown has awakened."
Seraphina stared at him. "So you admit the crown is real?"
"I told you. I've seen it too."
She narrowed her eyes. "And in your dream—do you see me standing in the room?"
Lucien hesitated. "Yes."
"And are you the man beside the crown?"
Another pause. "No."
"Then who is?"
He looked at her — really looked — and something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"I think you already know," he said.
Seraphina's breath caught.
No.She didn't want to believe it.But deep inside, she feared it.
There had been a moment — just before she woke from the last dream — where the figure beside the crown had worn Lucien's face… but the eyes had been hollow. Cold. Wrong.
Like a version of him that had never tasted regret. Never remembered love.
A version of him that still lived in the empire's shadows.
"I want to see the seal," she said. "Yours."
Lucien raised a brow. "Now?"
"Here."
Wordlessly, he pulled off his glove.
Seraphina stepped closer. His hand was scarred, lean, powerful — and there, burned into the skin of his palm, was the original rune.
But it was different from the one on Elise's hand.
The center of his was deeper, more ancient, shaped like a star swallowing itself.
Hers had been incomplete. Like a mimic. A warning.
She reached forward and touched his palm without thinking.
Lucien flinched — not from pain, but from the intimacy.
"You've always been fire," he murmured.
"And you've always been something that can't burn," she replied.
They stood there, skin against skin, memory against memory.
And then Lucien said softly, "This rune doesn't just mark me."
Seraphina looked up. "What do you mean?"
"It binds me."
Her heart stumbled. "To what?"
"To the thing that gave me life… when I should have died."
He stepped back and pulled the glove on again. "There are powers in this empire that never sleep, Seraphina. They build crowns that whisper. They mark children before they can speak. They decide who lives and who burns."
"Then why did you let me burn?" she asked, voice breaking.
Lucien was silent for a long moment.
And then—
"I was bound," he said. "But you were brighter. If I had interfered then, we both would've died. And your fire… would have gone out forever."
She wanted to scream. Cry. Strike him. But instead, she whispered:
"Is this what love looks like to you?"
"No," he said. "It's what survival looked like."
Back in her room, Seraphina stared at the drawing of the crown once again.
The same words echoed in her mind:
If two souls dream the same dream… one has already died, and the other has yet to awaken.
She had died.
But maybe Lucien had never truly awakened.
Not yet