The palace felt different the next day.
The servants whispered as they worked, eyes flicking toward every corner as if expecting the Inquisitor to appear from the shadows. The air carried a strange stillness, heavy and watchful. Even the light seemed cautious, filtering through high windows in pale ribbons instead of warmth.
Seraphina sat by her window, her breakfast untouched. The sealed letter from last night lay folded beside her. She had read it again in the morning light, searching for meaning in the simple words. He sees you. Do not trust the crown.
She did not know who had sent it, but the warning clung to her thoughts.
A knock came.
"Enter," she said.
Cale stepped inside, his uniform crisp, his expression careful. He bowed slightly before speaking. "Lady Seraphina. His Highness has ordered increased security while the Inquisitor remains in the palace. I've been assigned to your wing."
"Assigned," she repeated. "To watch me?"
"To protect you," he said, meeting her eyes. "Though I'm not sure he knows the difference."
She studied him for a moment, then gestured to the window seat. "Then protect me from boredom. Sit."
He hesitated. "That wouldn't be proper."
"Proper has never saved anyone in this place."
Something like amusement flickered across his face. He sat, still keeping a soldier's posture. His eyes swept the garden below, where frost still lingered on the fountain despite the morning sun.
"They say the Inquisitor will question every witness to the frost," he said quietly. "Servants, guards, even members of the court."
"Then they will have a very long day," Seraphina replied.
Cale looked at her, uncertain whether she was joking. "If they accuse you—"
"They already did, once," she said softly. "It would not be new."
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint sound of bells far in the distance.
"You never told me what really happened that night," he said.
Seraphina turned her gaze to the frost-covered fountain. "Would you believe me if I did?"
"I saw enough to know you aren't a liar."
His words were simple, but something in his tone steadied her. She looked at him again, and for the first time since her rebirth, she felt the faint spark of trust, fragile but real.
"Then believe this," she said quietly. "Whatever they think they're hunting, I will not be its prey."
Before he could answer, a sharp knock sounded on the door.
Elysia entered without waiting for permission, her silvery gown trailing across the floor like spilled light. She smiled as if the room belonged to her.
"Sister," she said sweetly. "How lovely to see you so early. The prince asked that we all attend the Inquisitor's inspection together. He wishes the court to appear united."
"United," Seraphina repeated, rising. "That is one word for it."
Elysia's smile did not waver. "You'll come, won't you?"
Seraphina glanced at Cale. He stood quickly, bowing his head, and stepped aside. She turned back to her sister. "Of course."
Elysia's eyes lingered on Cale, then flicked to the untouched breakfast. "You've grown quiet since your… unfortunate incident. I hope you're feeling better. The court worries."
"The court worries when it has nothing better to gossip about," Seraphina said.
Elysia tilted her head. "And you? Do you worry?"
"Not anymore."
For the first time, her sister's smile faltered. It returned quickly, thinner now. "Then I'll see you in the throne hall."
When she left, Cale exhaled. "I can stand outside if you prefer."
Seraphina shook her head. "Stay close. The Church has sharp eyes, but it's the crown that bites first."
******************************
The throne hall had changed.
Inquisitor Lucien stood near the dais, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carved from stillness. Around him, priests moved with quiet purpose, placing small relics of silver and glass upon the tables. Each relic shimmered faintly in the torchlight, drawing uneasy glances from the nobles.
Adrian sat on his throne, regal and composed. Elysia stood beside him, the picture of devotion. Seraphina took her place at the edge of the dais, silent and veiled.
Lucien turned, his gaze sweeping the room. "His Holiness sends his gratitude for your cooperation," he said. "These relics will reveal any traces of corruption or forbidden blessing. The light cannot be hidden from itself."
The nobles shifted uneasily.
Servants carried the relics forward, setting one before each of the royal family. A faint hum filled the hall, soft but insistent.
When the relic was placed before her, Seraphina felt her pulse quicken. The mark beneath her glove burned, sharp and bright.
"Lady Seraphina," Lucien said smoothly. "Would you rest your hand upon the relic? The light must touch all."
She met his eyes through her veil. He was smiling, polite and unhurried. He already knew.
"Of course," she said.
Her hand trembled only once as she reached forward. Beneath her glove, she focused all her strength on stillness. The mark pulsed like a heartbeat against her skin. She imagined the frost turning to mist, the light scattering harmlessly.
Her fingers brushed the relic.
For an instant, nothing happened.
Then the glow inside the glass flared, not gold, but silver. The priests gasped. The hum deepened into a low vibration that made the air tremble. Frost formed at the base of the relic, spreading in thin veins across the table.
Seraphina lifted her hand. "How curious," she said softly. "Your relic is broken."
Lucien's eyes gleamed faintly. "Perhaps."
Elysia clutched Adrian's arm. "What does that mean?"
Lucien turned toward the prince. "It means, Your Highness, that there is more than one kind of divine touch. Some call it blessing. Others call it judgment."
Adrian's gaze shifted to Seraphina, searching her face as though seeing her for the first time. "She has been through much," he said slowly. "Surely this is only a reflection of her suffering."
"Perhaps," Lucien said again. "But suffering leaves no frost."
The priests whispered among themselves. One crossed himself and stepped back.
Seraphina rose calmly. "If you are finished accusing me of breaking your glass, I would like to breathe air that hasn't been blessed half to death."
Lucien's mouth curved faintly. "Of course. You may go. The Light will find you again when it wishes."
She turned and left the hall, her heart hammering in her chest. The moment she was out of sight, she quickened her pace, slipping into an empty corridor.
Her palm burned so hot it felt like fire. She tore off her glove. The mark blazed silver, light seeping through the cracks between her fingers.
"Be quiet," she whispered through gritted teeth.
The glow dimmed slowly, leaving behind faint wisps of frost in the air.
"Seraphina."
She turned sharply. Cale stood at the end of the hall, his expression stricken. He had followed her without a word.
"You saw," she said quietly.
He nodded. "They'll come for you."
"Let them try."
"You can't fight the Church."
"I already have."
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Then at least don't face it alone. You saved me from that night in the garden. Let me return it."
She hesitated. He looked so certain, so steady. In a world where everyone played games, he spoke only the truth.
Finally, she nodded. "Stay close. If things turn, you'll know before they do."
He smiled faintly. "You have a strange way of giving orders."
"I'm still learning," she said.
Outside, the bells began to ring again, echoing through the corridors like thunder.
The Church had come to the palace, and the frost was already spreading.
Seraphina pulled her glove back on and looked toward the grand hall where Lucien waited.
He wanted a vessel of judgment.
He would find one.