They told her with a smile.
That was the first insult.
Seren stood in front of the steward, still in her thin scarlet shift, hair unbound, skin smelling faintly of Kaedan’s chamber. She’d barely had time to return to the harem wing, barely had time to breathe, when the steward arrived with his neat scroll and his too-careful bow.
“Seren Veran,” he said, voice smooth as polished stone. “By decree of the Emperor, you are to be reassigned temporarily to Lord Vaelen’s northern court as a gesture of goodwill and unity.”
For a heartbeat, the words meant nothing.
“Reassigned,” she repeated slowly. “You mean summoned. Borrowed. Called upon.”
The steward kept his eyes politely lowered. “Traded, my lady. Temporarily. As an honored transfer of favor.”
Something in her chest cracked.
“Traded,” she echoed, a laugh scraping out of her. “Like a weapon. Or a horse. Or a particularly elegant chair.”
“It is a great privilege,” the steward continued, missing or ignoring the tremor in her tone. “Lord Vaelen has personally expressed eagerness to welcome you into his household. You leave at moonrise. Please prepare what you require.”
Seren stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for Kaedan to step into the doorway and say he’d changed his mind, that this was an overreach, a misunderstanding, anything but what it was.
Nothing happened.
The steward bowed again, relieved to have delivered the message alive, and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Seren snapped.
He froze.
“Who ordered this?” she demanded. “Whose signature is on that scroll?”
He swallowed. “The Emperor’s, my lady.”
Her vision blurred for a second.
“Get out,” she whispered.
He ran.
The door shut behind him, and for several long breaths Seren didn’t move. The words lodged in her skull like nails: reassigned, traded, temporarily. Vaelen. Moonrise.
He’s sending me away.
Her hands began to shake.
“No,” she said aloud, to no one. “No, no, no. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. I’ve been here since before half this court could walk. I’ve bled under his hand. I’ve stood beside his throne. He would never—”
Her mind supplied the image unbidden: Kaedan agreeing, jaw set, eyes cold.
Her stomach turned.
It’s her.
The thought arrived clean, sharp, undeniable.
Before Ariaxa, no one could touch me. Before Ariaxa, the idea of trading me would have been an insult. Before Ariaxa, I was a constant.
Now I’m leverage.
Red washed over her vision.
The baths glowed with low lanterns and steam when she entered. Rose petals floated lazily across heated water, mist curling toward the arched ceiling. Several slaves lounged in the pools, some in clusters, some alone, the quiet hum of their conversations breaking off one by one as Seren stepped in.
She ignored them.
Her gaze locked on Ariaxa instantly.
The Sun Princess sat at the edge of the largest pool, water lapping at her waist, hair slicked back from her face. Mirel knelt behind her on the tiles, gently working perfumed oil into the bruised line under the collar. Ariaxa’s shoulders were still tense, still fragile from the Crypts and the war room interrogation, but for a rare, brief moment her eyes were closed.
Seren’s teeth clenched.
She crossed the tiled floor like a storm in bare feet.
Mirel looked up first, hand stilling. “Seren. She’s just—”
“Get away from her,” Seren said.
Ariaxa’s eyes snapped open.
Mirel rose halfway. “You need to calm down. Whatever this is—”
“I said,” Seren repeated, turning the full heat of her fury on Mirel, “get. Away. From her.”
Mirel swallowed. “Seren, please—”
Seren shoved her.
Not hard enough to send her flying, but hard enough to knock her back a step, hard enough to send a message. Mirel caught herself on the stone rim, eyes widening.
Ariaxa’s hands curled along the pool edge. “Don’t touch her.”
Seren’s head snapped toward her, a strange, calm smile curving her lips.
“You,” she said in a voice that shook. “You are going to lecture me on touching?”
Ariaxa held her gaze. “Kaedan made his decisions. I didn’t—”
“Oh, I know you didn’t sign the decree.” Seren laughed, the sound high and brittle. “You don’t know how to hold a quill without trembling. But you tilted your head and you bled at the right moments, and suddenly the Emperor is trading his most loyal slave like a token.”
Ariaxa’s brows knit. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m being sent to Vaelen,” Seren snapped. “Your new admirer. Did you enjoy his mouth on your blood? Did it make you feel important?”
Ariaxa flinched, color draining from her face. “I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any of it.”
“And yet,” Seren hissed, stepping closer to the pool, “here we are. I am being dragged north like a consolation gift so Kaedan can patch the hole you tore in his alliances.”
Mirel moved to stand between them. “This isn’t Ariaxa’s fault. Blame the Emperor. Blame the Triarchs. Blame the system. But she didn’t—”
Seren’s hand flew out, striking Mirel across the face with a sharp crack.
Gasps erupted around the bath as slaves bolted upright in the water. Mirel’s head snapped to the side, hair falling over her cheek where a flush bloomed. Her hand rose slowly to touch the reddening skin.
“You’ve overstepped,” Seren whispered. “All of you. Talking like his moods, his laws, his rage are some shared burden. You heal his toys and think that makes you equal.”
Ariaxa surged forward in the water. “Don’t hit her again.”
“Or what?” Seren asked, kicking off her slippers, stepping onto the lower pool step. Water licked at her ankles, then her shins. “You’ll look at me like you looked at him? You’ll beg and turn me into another monster who doesn’t know how to say no to you?”
Ariaxa shook her head, backing up a little. “I don’t control him. I barely survive him.”
Seren waded in further, silk clinging to her legs, her eyes blazing. “You think I don’t see it? The way he watches you? He throws away old rules for that gaze. He trades me for that gaze. I have given him everything—my youth, my blood, my body, my years—and he risks it all for someone who would rather die than wear his touch.”
“That isn’t fair,” Ariaxa said, voice tight. “I didn’t ask him to—”
“Stop. Saying. That!”
Seren lunged.
Ariaxa yelped as Seren slammed into her, forcing her backward. The water broke in a rush, swallowing them both in a splash that drenched the nearest tiles. Ariaxa lost her footing and went under, the world exploding into rose-scented heat and panic.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and shoved her deeper.
Her scream turned to bubbles.
She thrashed blindly, lungs burning, knees scraping stone. Seren’s grip was iron, pushing her head down, fingers tangling in her hair and forcing her face toward the pool floor.
“Seren!” Mirel’s voice cut through the chaos. “Stop! You’ll kill her!”
“That’s the point!” Seren screamed back, half-submerged, hair wild, eyes wild. “If she dies, this ends! He forgets her!”
Ariaxa’s vision started to spot. The collar pressed hard against her throat, the metal colder than the water. Instinct screamed at her to breathe, to inhale anything, even if it was the thing that would drown her.
Hands seized Seren from behind.
“Let go!” one of the other slaves shouted—a broad-shouldered man from the inner ring, arms wrapping around Seren’s torso, dragging her backward. “You’ve gone mad!”
She clung to Ariaxa’s hair, nails clawing at her scalp.
Another set of hands—small but relentless—grabbed Seren’s wrists. “Release her!” a girl hissed, dark eyes fierce. “You’ll bring the guards down on all of us!”
Seren’s grip finally broke.
Ariaxa shot upward, breaking the surface with a choked, ragged gasp. She coughed and coughed, water streaming from her hair and lashes, chest heaving as she clung to the pool edge. Her throat burned. Her eyes burned. Everything burned.
Mirel splashed to her side, grabbing her face between both hands. “Look at me. Breathe. Just breathe. Ariaxa, look at me.”
Ariaxa tried, eyes unfocused. “She—she tried to—”
“I know.” Mirel’s voice trembled. “I know. You’re alive. Focus on that.”
On the other side of the pool, Seren writhed in the grip of the slaves holding her. The man pinned her arms; the girl held her hair, keeping her face turned away from Ariaxa.
“You all saw it!” Seren shouted hoarsely. “You all saw how everything changed when she arrived!”
“Seren, enough!” someone snapped from the doorway.
Two guards had appeared, drawn by the screams and splashing. Their armor glinted with steam, their expressions locked into that grim, dangerous stillness reserved for problems they didn’t want to be responsible for but couldn’t ignore.
“The Emperor has ordered you prepared for departure,” one guard said. “You were told to remain calm. Instead we find you attacking his property in the baths.”
“She is the problem!” Seren shrieked, straining against the hands that held her. “You think this court is safer with her in it? You think he is clearer in his mind with her collar glowing under his nose?”
“Seren,” Mirel pleaded, voice raw, “stop talking.”
The guard gestured. “Take her. Get her out of the wing before she tears the whole harem apart.”
The two slaves holding Seren looked at each other, then reluctantly began to drag her toward the exit. She kicked once, twice, bare heels skidding over wet tile, silks plastered to her body.
Her gaze locked on Ariaxa one last time.
Ariaxa shivered, fingers digging into the stone, collar still cold against her raw throat.
Seren’s voice dropped lower, more dangerous than any scream.
“If he loves you more than he loves me,” she hissed, fighting every step as they hauled her away, “I’ll make him watch you burn!”