Ariaxa woke the next morning with a bruise blooming beneath her skin — not from Kaedan’s hands, but from the truththey’d scraped raw the night before.
She didn’t have time to dwell on it.
A guard slammed the harem door open before dawn.
“Ariaxa. The Emperor summons you.”
Mirel shot her a horrified look. “Already?”
Ariaxa swallowed hard. “Already.”
The other slaves whispered as she passed — some in fear, some in envy, all in trembling confusion.
Seren was nowhere in sight.
Ariaxa wished that meant something good.
It didn’t.
***
Ariaxa barely entered the Blood Court before Kaedan snapped his fingers.
“Here,” he commanded, not even looking at her.
She crossed the marble floor, aware of every hateful stare. She placed herself at his right side, hands folded, back straight — her position, her sentence.
The High Council was gathered, studying her with thinly veiled contempt.
“She follows you everywhere now?” Lord Varrek asked sharply.
“She goes where I go,” Kaedan said simply.
A statement.
A command.
A threat.
Ariaxa stared straight ahead, throat tight.
During breakfast, Kaedan didn’t let her stand behind him like a servant. He motioned her forward, forcing her to pour his wine with trembling hands while a dozen nobles watched as though witnessing a scandal.
At training, he dragged her along the edge of the arena, making her observe as he sparred with generals.
Every strike echoed with fury.
Every breath he took seemed directed at her.
At lunch, he ordered her to kneel beside his chair and hold his goblet — not because he needed her to, but because he needed her close.
Because the fracture inside him had turned into fixation.
By evening, half the palace believed Ariaxa had bewitched him.
The other half feared she’d replaced Seren as the new favorite.
And the harem…
Oh, the harem felt like a pit of knives.
***
When Ariaxa was finally allowed back into the harem wing, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Eyes tracked her movements. Slaves clung to one another as though bracing for a storm.
Then the air shifted.
A figure stepped from the shadows.
Seren.
Ariaxa froze.
Seren’s arms were streaked with scratches — fresh, bleeding, some shaped like fingernail crescents. Her hair was wild, lip split, breathing uneven.
The harem kept a wide distance from her.
Seren smiled at Ariaxa. It wasn’t sane.
“You’re back,” Ariaxa whispered cautiously.
“Back,” Seren echoed, voice trembling with manic delight. “And blessed.”
Ariaxa’s skin crawled. “What happened to you?”
Seren sauntered closer, dragging a fingertip along her own wounded arm. “I saw a prophecy.”
Mirel, who’d been silently stitching a torn veil, shot to her feet. “Seren, don’t start—”
But Seren’s grin widened, unhinged. “The stars spoke. The blood spoke. Even the walls whispered it to me.”
She leaned close to Ariaxa, breath hot against her cheek.
“You will end Vharon.”
A ripple of gasps scattered through the harem.
Ariaxa stepped back, voice icy. “You’re lying.”
Seren’s smile snapped into a snarl. “Am I? Or are you just afraid that you finally understand why he can’t stop looking at you?”
Ariaxa stiffened, pulse spiking.
But Seren wasn’t done.
She clutched Ariaxa’s hand suddenly, grip too tight, nails digging into skin as she whispered in a trembling, frantic rush:
“The kingdom falls. The Emperor breaks. And you… you are the blade he never saw coming.”
“Let her go!” Mirel shouted.
Two slaves pried Seren away.
Seren laughed — loud, fractured, echoing through the chamber like broken bells.
“I saw the end,” she said, voice cracking. “And her name was Ariaxa.”
Then she turned and drifted into the shadows, humming a discordant tune.
No one followed her.
No one dared.
***
As soon as Seren vanished, the harem erupted.
“She’s cursed!”
“She’s dangerous!”
“She’s jealous!”
“She’s right — the Emperor is obsessed!”
“No, Ariaxa is the danger!”
“Kaedan will kill us all because of her!”
Mirel grabbed Ariaxa’s arm and pulled her into a corner where torches sputtered softly.
“Listen to me,” Mirel whispered urgently. “Seren is unraveling, but that doesn’t make her wrong. The nobles are restless. The court is cracking. And Kaedan—”
Ariaxa closed her eyes.
“I know,” she whispered. “He hasn’t looked away from me all day.”
Mirel’s voice softened. “That is obsession. Not protection.”
Ariaxa swallowed hard. “I don’t want any of this.”
“I know,” Mirel said, brushing a stray piece of hair from her cheek. “But the palace doesn’t care what you want.”
***
Before Ariaxa could respond, a frantic knocking came from the outer hall.
A guard burst in, armor scraped, breathing ragged.
“The rebels struck again,” he announced. “This time they reached the northern courtyard.”
Gasps echoed.
Another attack.
Another bold strike.
They were creeping closer to the palace heart.
Closer to Kaedan.
Closer to her.
Ariaxa felt her stomach twist. “How many casualties?”
“Seven guards. Two servants. And a messenger.”
Mirel covered her mouth in horror.
Ariaxa’s pulse hammered painfully.
Rebels.
Elyndor rebels.
Her father’s people.
Her people.
And they were killing innocents.
She looked at the guard, voice quiet and strained. “Why a messenger?”
The guard hesitated.
Then he said:
“Because of what he was carrying.”
***
Moments later, another guard appeared at the entrance to the harem wing.
“Ariaxa Solen,” he said formally. “The Emperor commands your presence.”
Ariaxa followed him through dim corridors, heart pounding, dread curling in her stomach. She entered Kaedan’s private war chamber — maps strewn across the table, candles guttering in a restless draft.
Kaedan stood there, rigid as carved obsidian.
He didn’t look at her at first.
Not until the door closed.
Then he lifted a single parchment.
A list.
A kill list.
He stepped closer — too close — pressing the list into her hands.
“Read it,” he said.
Ariaxa’s fingers trembled.
She lowered her gaze.
Her breath stopped.
The names blurred.
But one stood out like a blade pressed to her throat:
Ariaxa Solen.
Her own.
Her hands shook violently.
Kaedan’s voice dropped into a deadly hush.
“A rebel cell has been found,” he said quietly. “And these”—his hand brushed hers, cold as steel—“are the targets they intend to eliminate.”
Ariaxa swallowed hard. “Why me?”
Kaedan’s eyes finally met hers.
They burned.
“They want you dead because of who you are.”
Ariaxa’s pulse hammered.
But he wasn’t finished.
“They want you even more,” he whispered, “because of who you are becoming.”