They did not linger near Bramble Hollow.
By midday the village square would be full of whispers, and by dusk the whispers would grow teeth.
Garrick led them west along an old deer path that avoided the main road. The forest here thinned into rolling hills patched with heather and low stone fences. Smoke from distant farmsteads marked civilization in careful, vulnerable lines.
Adrian walked beside Seraphine.
"You knew this would happen," he said quietly.
"I knew he would move quickly," she replied. "I did not know how elegantly."
"That Tribunal—"
"—is the beginning," she finished.
He glanced at her. "You're certain?"
"Yes."
There was no dramatics in her tone. No fear. Only recognition.
"He cannot rule forever through a single body," she continued. "Hosts fail. Flesh weakens. But institutions—" Her gaze drifted toward the horizon. "Institutions endure."
Adrian absorbed that in silence.
If Lucifer's aim was not merely control, but permanence—
Then killing Vortigern would not be enough.
They reached an abandoned watchtower by late afternoon, half-collapsed but defensible. Garrick deemed it sufficient shelter.
Thorne took first watch without being asked.
Mirael unpacked dried meat and stale bread. Adrian accepted a piece absently, appetite dulled by the morning's proclamation.
Seraphine stood near one of the cracked windows, watching the distant road.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said without turning.
He huffed a soft breath. "Is that one of Vespera's talents?"
"No. That's mine."
He joined her at the window.
"You said killing the body does not kill the will behind it," he said. "Then what does?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Lucifer is not like the others."
"Others."
"Ignis burns. Ferrum endures. Mareth flows. Vespera veils." Her fingers traced the stone edge lightly. "They are forces. Concepts. Powerful, yes—but bound to balance."
"And Lucifer?"
Her jaw tightened faintly.
"He was something else. Before."
Adrian studied her profile.
"You speak as if you remember."
Vespera's presence stirred—barely a ripple, like silk shifting in darkness.
"Memory lingers in strange ways," Seraphine said carefully. "He was not cast down for weakness."
"For what, then?"
"For pride."
The word carried weight.
Adrian thought of Vortigern's measured cruelty. The way he seemed almost compassionate when condemning men to death.
Refinement, not rage.
Design, not chaos.
A knock echoed from below.
All movement stilled.
Thorne's voice rose sharply. "Garrick."
Boots shifted. Steel slid free.
Another knock.
Firm. Deliberate.
Adrian descended the spiral stair halfway, blade drawn.
"Who calls?" Garrick demanded from below.
A familiar voice answered.
"Brother."
The word struck harder than the decree had.
Cassian Voss stepped into view as Garrick pulled the door open a fraction.
He wore no armor. No royal colors. Only a dark riding coat dusted with road grit. Golden hair tied neatly back. Expression composed.
Two riders waited behind him at a distance, hands visible.
Adrian descended the rest of the steps.
Cassian's gaze found him immediately.
"There you are."
"You shouldn't be here," Adrian said.
Cassian's lips twitched faintly. "On the contrary. I am exactly where I should be."
Thorne shifted subtly to Adrian's right.
Cassian's eyes flicked to him—measuring, dismissive.
"I came alone," Cassian said smoothly. "As a courtesy."
"A courtesy?" Adrian repeated.
"You've embarrassed the family."
Adrian let out a short, incredulous breath. "That's your concern?"
"My concern," Cassian replied evenly, "is survival."
Silence thickened between them.
Cassian stepped one pace closer, lowering his voice.
"The Tribunal is real, Adrian. It will not be symbolic. They are already drafting names."
"I've heard mine announced."
"Yes." Cassian's gaze sharpened. "And I can have it removed."
Thorne scoffed softly.
Garrick did not move, but his grip on his spear tightened.
"At what cost?" Adrian asked.
Cassian held his brother's gaze steadily.
"Return with me. Publicly denounce the pagans. Admit manipulation. Claim enchantment if you must—His Majesty will permit that narrative."
Adrian's stomach twisted.
"And Seraphine?" he asked.
Cassian did not look at her.
"She will not be extended the same mercy."
The words were calm. Final.
Seraphine did not flinch.
Adrian felt something settle in his chest—not anger, not shock.
Clarity.
"You knew," Adrian said quietly. "Before the decree."
Cassian's expression did not change.
"I advise the king."
Of course he did.
Lucifer would not rely solely on fear. He would cultivate ambition.
"You've seen his eyes," Adrian pressed.
A flicker—brief, almost imperceptible.
"I've seen power," Cassian corrected.
"And that doesn't disturb you?"
Cassian's voice hardened slightly.
"The realm needs order. Stability. Strength. If His Majesty possesses… unusual gifts, then we are fortunate."
Fortunate.
Thorne's jaw tightened visibly.
"He is not what you think," Adrian said.
Cassian stepped closer still, until they were nearly face to face.
"I think," Cassian said softly, "that you are romanticizing rebellion. You were always prone to that."
"And you were always prone to kneeling," Adrian shot back.
A beat of silence.
Cassian's mask slipped—not rage, but irritation.
"You have until sundown," he said at last. "After that, I cannot shield you."
"You were never shielding me," Adrian replied.
Cassian studied him one final time.
"Choose wisely," he said. "The king rewards loyalty."
"And what does he do with doubt?"
Cassian's gaze cooled.
"He corrects it."
He turned and stepped back into the fading light.
The door closed.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Mirael finally exhaled. "He would hand us over."
"Yes," Garrick said.
Adrian remained staring at the wooden door.
"He already has," Seraphine murmured.
Adrian nodded slowly.
Sundown was not a deadline.
It was a courtesy.
And in the palace, miles away, King Vortigern listened as reports of the Thornwood skirmish were recited.
When Cassian's name was mentioned, the king's golden eyes warmed faintly.
"Loyal," Lucifer said softly.
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"Test him further."