Ariaxa slept lightly now.
She had to.
Ever since Kaedan’s confession — change still echoing between them — the palace felt like a wound. Every corridor whispered danger. Every breath seemed to hide a blade behind it.
But nothing prepared her for the cold metal pressing against her throat.
Her eyes flew open.
A figure crouched over her bed, knees on either side of her waist, breath shaky and wild. A blade glinted in the moonlight, its edge chilling her skin.
“Hello, little Sun,” Seren whispered.
Ariaxa’s breath shattered.
Seren didn’t look like a harem jewel anymore.
Not a favorite.
Not even human.
Her hair was hacked short, uneven, jagged as if cut with broken glass. Her silks were torn, smeared with soot and blood. One sleeve hung by threads. Her eyes—once charming, always sharp—were now unhinged pits of fury.
“You thought I was gone?” Seren breathed, the knife grazing the tender hollow beneath Ariaxa’s jaw. “Did you think trading me would kill my purpose? No. It sharpened it.”
Ariaxa tried to raise her hands, but Seren dug her knee into her ribs.
“Easy,” Seren cooed with a manic softness. “I don’t want to spill your blood yet. Not until you understand why you need to die.”
Ariaxa swallowed, the movement brushing her skin against the blade. “Seren… don’t—”
“Don’t?” Seren laughed, broken and glassy. “Tell me something, princess. Do you know how much the palace hates you?”
Ariaxa’s heart hammered. “This isn’t about the palace—”
“Oh, but it is.” Seren leaned closer, hair falling over her face in wild strands. “Do you know what you’ve done? Kaedan bleeds for you now. He burns the world for you. Do you know what that makes you?”
Seren’s hand trembled—violently—but her grip on the blade never loosened.
“Most hated woman in Vharon,” she whispered. “Most envied. Most hunted. A target so bright every dagger aches to bury itself in your heart.”
Ariaxa’s breath hitched, fear sparking in her chest. “Seren, please—”
“Please?” Seren mimicked in a high, mocking tone. Then her voice dropped into a guttural growl. “Do you think begging will save you? It didn’t save me from Vaelen.”
Ariaxa froze.
Seren’s smile twisted. “Yes. I see it. You wonder what he did to me. What he made me do. What he—” Her voice broke sharply, then snapped back into fury. “Everything Kaedan stopped feeling for me… Vaelen taught me to hate in return.”
The blade pressed harder.
Ariaxa felt a bead of blood rise under the edge.
“Kaedan ruined me,” Seren hissed, shaking. “Then he replaced me with you. You—who should have died with your kingdom.”
Ariaxa’s voice trembled. “I didn’t choose any of this.”
Seren’s expression cracked open like a fracture. “Neither did I.”
Ariaxa braced for the slice.
Seren’s hand rose—
—then a body slammed into her.
Mirel.
The healer collided with Seren in a blur of motion, the two women crashing into the stone wall with a sickening thud. The blade skittered across the floor. Seren shrieked, clawing at Mirel’s face, her nails drawing blood. The women grappled, twisting, elbows striking, hair flying.
“Guards!” Mirel shouted, voice raw. “To Ariaxa’s quarters!”
Seren kicked her off, scrambling to her feet like a feral animal.
Ariaxa rolled out of bed, lungs burning. “Mirel!”
But the guards burst in at that exact moment — too many bodies, too much movement. Seren darted through their legs, slipping between cloaks like smoke. One guard tried to grab her braid — but she’d already cut it. She vanished into the hallway with uncanny speed.
“Stop her!” Ariaxa screamed.
But Seren was already gone.
The guards sprinted after her. The door slammed shut behind them.
Mirel leaned against the wall, clutching her bleeding cheek, chest heaving.
Ariaxa rushed to her. “Are you hurt?”
Mirel laughed breathlessly, wiping blood away with her sleeve. “Nothing fatal. I’ve been hit harder by noblewomen complaining about their perfume allergies.”
Ariaxa swallowed down a hysterical sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob. She squeezed Mirel’s trembling hand.
“You saved my life.”
Mirel brushed a loose strand of hair behind Ariaxa’s ear. “I don’t want to bury another girl in this palace.”
The room was still trembling with the aftershock of the attack. Ariaxa sank onto the bed, heart racing.
“She won’t stop,” Ariaxa whispered. “I saw her eyes. Seren will never stop.”
Mirel’s expression turned grim. “Then one day, one of you won’t survive her.”
The torchlight flickered.
A gust of cold wind slipped through the broken window Seren had crawled through. Ariaxa pulled her blanket around her shoulders, suddenly icy.
“Did Kaedan know?” she whispered. “Did he know she was back in the palace?”
Mirel shook her head. “No. If he had, the entire palace would already be on fire.”
Ariaxa shivered. He was unpredictable—dangerous—but Seren was deliberate. Calculated. Patient in her madness. And the court wanted her gone just as much.
A death sentence hung over her whether she moved or stood still.
Mirel suddenly froze.
“What?” Ariaxa asked.
Mirel’s trembling hand reached toward the pillow.
“Ariaxa,” she whispered, “do not touch that.”
Ariaxa leaned forward—
—and saw it.
Carved deep into the pillowcase, through fabric and feathers, etched into the very stuffing:
A black sigil.
Circular.
Twisted.
Pulsing faintly with ink-black magic.
Recognition slammed into Ariaxa’s chest.
A death mark.
Used by the assassin clans of Vharon.
Placed only on prey meant to be killed slowly.
Painfully.
Publicly.
Mirel staggered back, hand over her mouth.
“Someone paid for this,” she said, voice cracking. “And not cheaply.”
Ariaxa’s heart fell like a stone.
Because carved right beneath the sigil, small enough to almost miss but unmistakable:
SEREN WAS HERE.
Ariaxa touched the edge of the carving with a shaking hand.
Seren wasn’t just hunting her.
She was announcing the kill.