The palace never truly slept.
Even in the deepest hours, when the corridors were empty and the torches burned low, Seraphina could hear the faint rhythm of life: footsteps in distant halls, the rustle of curtains, the murmur of voices behind closed doors.
But tonight, it all felt wrong.
The silence was too careful. The air was too still.
She stood at her window, staring down at the courtyard where moonlight touched the frost-covered fountain. Its surface had frozen smooth, reflecting the stars like glass. The mark on her palm pulsed softly beneath her skin, still faintly gold from the reliquary.
Elias had left an hour ago, taking the book with him. He had told her to rest. She had tried. But rest never came easily anymore.
Something shifted in the air. A prickle crawled up her spine.
She turned.
Someone was in the room.
The shadows near the door seemed to ripple, then separate from the darkness itself. Lucien stepped into the light, silent as smoke. His cloak was unfastened, his expression calm.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said. "I was told you could not sleep."
Seraphina's pulse jumped. "Do the Inquisitors keep watch even over dreams now?"
"Only the ones that leave frost on their windows."
Her gaze flicked toward the glass. A faint pattern of ice had crept along the corners without her noticing.
Lucien smiled slightly. "You are difficult to miss."
"I did nothing wrong."
"Wrong?" He stepped closer. "No. But neither do storms, until they destroy a city."
She forced her expression to remain composed. "You have a way with comfort."
"It is not my purpose to comfort." He stopped a few paces away, studying her face. "You changed the reliquary."
Her throat tightened. "You assume too much."
He tilted his head. "The Church's relics do not change on their own. Tonight, it glowed gold instead of silver. A false reading. A trick. I have seen it before."
Her hand twitched. The mark pulsed in warning.
Lucien's voice softened. "Tell me, Lady Seraphina. Do you even know what you are?"
"I know what I'm not," she said. "A fool."
The air between them seemed to thicken. The light from the candles wavered. Lucien's eyes caught the glow, turning pale and strange.
"I do not wish to harm you," he said. "But the power inside you will not remain hidden. It is ancient. It is dangerous. And it always demands a price."
Her control slipped for just a heartbeat. Frost crept up the edges of her desk, forming delicate veins along the wood. Lucien's gaze dropped to it but he didn't move.
"You see?" he said quietly. "Even now, it answers to nothing but itself."
She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. "Get out."
He regarded her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he bowed his head. "I will. But before I do, hear this."
He reached into his cloak and placed a small object on her desk, a silver coin engraved with the symbol of scales. "When the world begins to weigh against you, remember which side you stand on. Balance does not favor the pure. Only the strong."
With that, he turned and left as quietly as he had arrived.
The door closed with a soft click.
Seraphina stood frozen in the silence that followed. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. She stared at the coin, its surface catching the candlelight like a sliver of moon.
Then the mark on her palm burned.
Hard.
She gasped, clutching her hand. The pain was sharper this time, deeper, like fire searing through bone. The mirror across the room began to frost over, the glass spiderwebbing with cracks.
"Stop," she hissed, pressing her hand against her chest. "Stop it."
But the power didn't listen.
The frost spread to the floor, crawling up the legs of the chair, turning the flowers in the vase beside her bed to crystal. The air grew cold enough to burn.
She sank to her knees, trembling. "Please," she whispered. "Not now."
The voice came again. Calm. Familiar. The same one that had spoken in the dungeon.
Balance cannot hide forever.
"Then teach me," she gasped. "If I am your vessel, then tell me what to do."
The mark flared. The room brightened with silver light. For a heartbeat, she saw a figure behind her reflection in the mirror, not herself, but something vast and luminous, with eyes like twin moons.
Then the light vanished.
The frost stopped spreading. Her hand went cold again, the mark fading to a faint shimmer.
Seraphina stayed on the floor, breathing hard. The silver coin lay near her, rimmed with frost.
She reached out and picked it up. The metal was icy to the touch, but beneath it, faint warmth pulsed, as if something inside it was alive.
Outside, the bells of the cathedral began to ring. Three slow chimes. Midnight.
The frost on her window melted in thin trails, revealing her reflection once more. She looked pale, exhausted, but her eyes burned with something new.
Resolve.
Lucien was right about one thing. Balance did not favor the pure. Only the strong.
And she would learn what strength truly meant.
**********************
In the chapel below, Lucien stood before the altar, hands folded. The golden reliquary rested on the stone table before him, glowing faintly.
When he placed the silver coin against it, both lights pulsed at once, one gold, one silver. For an instant, they merged into white.
He smiled faintly. "So she hears you already."
Then he extinguished the last candle and whispered a prayer that no saint would ever claim.