The world narrowed to the gleam of Tristan's sword.
Seraphine's breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, her fingers tightening around the dagger still slick with Voris's blood. The lodge groaned around them, its shattered beams creaking under the weight of the night.
Tristan took a step forward, his polished boots crunching over broken glass. "You look terrible, my love." His smile was a blade all its own. "Marriage suits you ill."
Kaelan moved before she could—a blur of black leather and barely restrained violence. His sword met Tristan's with a shriek of steel that sent sparks dancing through the dust-choked air.
"Run," Kaelan snarled over his shoulder.
Tristan laughed, shoving him back with surprising strength. "Oh, she won't." His gaze never left Seraphine's. "Will you, darling? Not when I have such... interesting news."
A snap of his fingers.
The guards dragged forward a bound figure—hooded, stumbling. The sack came off with a flourish.
Seraphine's knees nearly buckled.
"Mother?"
Lady Vaelis looked decades older, her once-lustrous hair matted with filth, her fine gown reduced to rags. But her eyes—those sharp, cunning eyes—were the same.
"Hello, little viper," she croaked.
Tristan's blade traced a lazy line down the older woman's cheek. "Turns out your dear sister wasn't the only one keeping secrets." A thin trail of blood welled in the steel's wake. "Imagine my surprise when I learned your mother's been funding the Thorn Court rebellion for years."
Kaelan went very still.
Seraphine's mind raced. The contract. The blood oath. *You'll help me claim what's mine.*
Her mother's gaze locked with hers. "Don't trust the pretty ones, Sera. They always bite."
Tristan sighed. "Enough theatrics." He raised his sword—
Seraphine moved without thought.
The dagger left her hand in a deadly arc, embedding itself in the throat of the guard holding her mother. As he choked, she was already moving, snatching Voris's fallen blade from the floor and driving it into the second guard's gut.
Her mother collapsed forward—
Right into Kaelan's arms.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then Tristan's smile returned, wider. "Oh, this is very rich." He clapped slowly. "The exiled prince and the traitor's daughter. How poetic." His sword point dropped to Seraphine's mother's throat. "Let's negotiate."
The lodge trembled. Somewhere in the ruins, Rook groaned.
Kaelan's voice was cold. "Name your terms."
Tristan's eyes glittered. "The Vaelis lands. Their gold. And you—" the sword tip grazed Seraphine's collarbone, "—on your knees where you belong."
A log collapsed in the hearth. Embers spiraled upward like dying stars.
Seraphine looked at her mother's hollow cheeks, at Kaelan's bloodied knuckles, at Rook struggling to rise.
Then she smiled.
"Counteroffer."
She snapped her fingers.
The world erupted in smokes and screams as every poison vial hidden in her wedding gown shattered at once.