The soft glow of dawn filtered through the narrow windows of the tower, casting pale light across Seraphina's face. She had hardly slept. Every time her eyes threatened to close, her mind raced with the court's judgment, the faces behind the masks, the sharp sting of their words. She could still hear the echoes, feel the weight of their accusations like chains binding her heart.
But she wasn't broken. Not yet.
She was still alive. And she would remain so — for herself, for her brother, for the fire she could feel smoldering in her chest.
The door creaked open.
Lucian stood there, tall, commanding, his eyes cold as ever. But there was something different about him today. A flicker of something — impatience, perhaps? Or was it expectation?
"I trust you rested well?" His voice was like velvet, though there was no softness in the words.
"Rested?" Seraphina chuckled bitterly, crossing her arms. "After being torn apart by a dozen strangers? Oh, absolutely."
He didn't respond to her sarcasm. Instead, he motioned for her to follow him. The guards flanked the doorway as she stepped out into the dim corridor, her pulse quickening in spite of herself.
They moved in silence through the winding halls, the weight of Lucian's presence pressing down on her like a physical force. There was no escape from his gaze, even when he wasn't looking directly at her. She could feel the storm within him, the shifting currents of his emotions that were always just beneath the surface.
As they reached the center of the palace, Lucian stopped. The door in front of them was grand, etched with dark symbols and guarded by men who were clearly more than ordinary soldiers. This was no ordinary room.
"This is the Council Hall," Lucian explained, his voice low. "The real judgment will take place here, Seraphina."
She swallowed hard, trying to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. She had made it through the War Room. She had survived the court's trial. But this? This was something else entirely. It wasn't just power plays or political games. This was life and death.
And she would have to face it with the same defiance she had shown so far.
Lucian turned to her, his expression unreadable. "There are those who want you gone. And there are those who want you by my side." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You'll have to make a choice, Seraphina."
Her heart skipped a beat. "A choice?"
"Yes. A choice," he repeated, his lips curling ever so slightly in what could have been a grin. "Will you betray your principles to survive? Or will you risk everything to stay true to them?"
He gestured for her to enter the hall.
The room was grand, filled with figures draped in dark robes, their faces concealed by hoods. At the far end, a raised dais stood, bathed in an eerie, golden light. And behind it, on a throne of obsidian, sat the figure Seraphina had been dreading — the King.
Lucian stepped forward and took his place beside the throne, his posture rigid, yet somehow graceful in its controlled power.
The voices in the room fell silent as they all turned their attention to her.
Seraphina stood there, feeling small in this vast space. The weight of a thousand eyes bore down on her. She could feel her body trembling, though she refused to show it. This was it. The final test. The one that would either make her or break her.
"You stand accused," the King's voice boomed across the hall, deep and commanding. "Of dishonoring this palace, of threatening its very foundation." He let the words hang in the air, heavy with menace. "How do you plead, Seraphina Rivers?"
She swallowed, gathering the last remnants of her strength. "Not guilty," she said, her voice steady. "I stand by my actions. I will not be your pawn."
The murmurs in the room rippled like a wave. Some were shocked, others intrigued, but all were watching her. Lucian's eyes glinted with something unreadable, something dangerous.
"Very well," the King intoned. "Let the judgment proceed."