James's smirk instantly vanished when Miranda slapped his hand away. A dangerous flash of anger crossed his face as he stepped into her personal space, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over her.
"You dare look down on my offer?" James hissed, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You are a reject, Miranda. A useless trash princess with empty hands and grey eyes that don't belong in Suncity. You think you're too good to be my concubine? Let's see how much that pride helps you when Queen El's new hound strips you of everything left."
He reached out aggressively, his large hand gripping her shoulder to spin her back toward him.
But Miranda was not the same defenseless child from the palace hallways. After months of grueling work on the training fields, her body moved on pure survival instinct. Before James could solidify his grip, she twisted her torso sharply, slipping out of his reach. In one fluid motion, her right hand shot out, catching his wrist, while her left elbow delivered a sharp, crushing strike right into his exposed ribs.
Oof!
James grunted, stumbling back three steps as the air rushed out of his lungs. Shock washed over his face, quickly replaced by pure, unbridled malice. He reached for the wooden training sword on the rack, his knuckles turning white. "You little—"
"Young master James!"
The commanding voice of the Head Instructor echoed from the entrance of the sparring tent, cutting through the tension like a blade. James froze, his eyes burning with resentment as he slowly lowered his weapon. He stared at Miranda, a venomous smile returning to his lips. "This isn't over, Mira. Enjoy your little palace prison while it lasts." With a sharp turn, he strode out of the tent.
Miranda stood alone, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. She looked down at her hands, which were trembling slightly. She had defended herself, but James's words rang with a terrifying truth. The walls were closing in. Talia was watching her every move, her father had completely abandoned her, and Sebastian was powerless to change the King's mind.
That very night, far from the training fields, Sebastian lay tossing and turning on his bed. The encounter with King Krollos had broken something inside the old eunuch. For the first time in fourteen years, he felt utterly helpless against the rot consuming Suncity's royal court.
When sleep finally claimed him, it brought no peace.
Suddenly, Sebastian found himself standing in the center of the Holy Temple. The air was thick with the scent of burning myrrh, but the usual golden light of the temple was entirely absent. Instead, a heavy, suffocating darkness pressed down from the stone ceiling.
In the center of the altar stood High Priestess Ira.
Her eyes were wide open, glowing with an unnatural, blinding white light. But what terrified Sebastian the most was the crimson trail of blood flowing continuously down her pale cheeks. She didn't look like a holy messenger; she looked like a dying oracle.
Before Sebastian could call out, Ira lunged forward with impossible speed. Her hand shot out, gripping his forearm with a vice-like strength. Her skin felt like liquid fire, searing right through his heavy robes.
"Sebastian!" her voice echoed, sounding like a chorus of shattered glass. "The gods have grown silent because the betrayal has already begun! The darkness searches for the crown, but the true sun sets in the house of night! You must hide the child before the moon bleeds!"
"Priestess!" Sebastian cried out, suffocating under the weight of her presence. "What child? Miranda? What do I do?!"
"The true sun sets in the house of night!" she screamed one last time, her grip tightening until Sebastian felt his bone would snap.
"Ahhh!"
Sebastian threw himself upright, waking up in a cold sweat. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as the familiar surroundings of his dark bedroom came back into focus. He clutched his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. It was just a dream, he thought, letting out a shaky sigh. A horrible nightmare brought on by stress.
But as he moved to wipe the sweat from his face, a sharp, stinging pain shot up his right arm.
Gasping, Sebastian hurriedly pulled back the heavy sleeve of his night tunic. In the dim moonlight filtering through his window, his breath caught in his throat. Right there, etched perfectly across the flesh of his forearm, was a raw, red mark in the distinct shape of a woman's hand. The skin was slightly blistered and hot to the touch, smelling faintly of burnt fabric.
It wasn't a nightmare. It was a divine mandate.
The High Priestess was still in a coma deep inside the Sun Jungle, but her soul had broken through the spiritual veil to burn a warning into his very flesh.
"The true sun sets in the house of night," Sebastian whispered, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and sudden clarity as he stared at the burn mark. He didn't understand the full riddle, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he had to go to the Holy Temple immediately.