Pampered By All

The sky darkened, but the embers of the Trial still glowed in every whispered word, every sideways glance. Elara had not just survived, she had been seen. And that, in court, was more dangerous than any duel.

Within the walls of the palace, silence was a veil. But beneath it, schemes rustled like serpents in tall grass.

King Theron stood by the high window in his private quarters, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The warmth of the day faded, but the storm within him refused to settle.

He hadn't slept.

He couldn't.

Every time he closed his eyes, Seraphina's face appeared young, fierce, eyes full of wild light.

And now, Elara's face mirrored it with terrifying clarity.

He didn't need a report.

He needed the truth.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," he said without turning.

Captain Roran stepped in, his armour dulled with travel, his expression lined with more questions than answers.

"You took longer than expected," the King murmured.

"There were… complications," Roran replied, standing at attention.

Theron finally turned, eyes sharp. "What did you find?"

Roran hesitated before answering. "I traced what remained of Seraphina's village. Burned. Erased. But the older records still speak her name. A healer. A warrior. A bearer of the old flame."

The king's voice grew heavy. "And the child?"

"Unconfirmed. There are whispers that one woman survived the fire that night. Captured. Silenced." He paused. "They say someone ordered her kidnapping and took her to a sealed location. No name, no entry, no light. The woman delivered… and then was gone."

"Gone?" The king's voice was barely a whisper.

"Who do you suspect?" The king inquired. 

Silence fell like a blade between them.

The king's knuckles whitened around the edge of the windowsill. "And the child?"

Roran's jaw tightened. "No confirmation. But there are records… of a baby smuggled into the servant class that same month. No name. No parents listed."

The king closed his eyes, pain crossing his face. "It was her."

Roran said nothing.

When the king finally spoke again, his voice was low. "Continue the investigation. I need more than whispers."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And Roran…"

The captain turned.

"If anyone learns of this before I get to the root of this, there will be consequences."

Roran nodded once. "Only you will know."

As he walked away, the king looked into the fire.

Seraphina had died in silence.

But her flame had not.

In the east wing, Elara sat by Ana's bedside again, brushing tangled strands of hair from her friend's face.

"I dreamt you died," Ana whispered, waking briefly.

Elara smiled. "I didn't. And neither did you."

Ana smirked weakly. "Shame. Would've been a dramatic end for us."

M appeared behind them with a wrapped scroll. "You've been summoned to a formal seating."

Elara stood slowly. "Let them summon. Let them watch."

"You're stepping into the lion's mouth," M warned. "They will love you when they don't feel threatened."

"I've already threatened them," Elara said. "By existing."

Meanwhile, in the Queen's tower, the Empress drank a light tea made of dried lavender and smokeleaf, her eyes fixed on the fire.

Lady Marellia stood behind her, silent.

"How is our little Flamebearer?" the Empress asked coolly.

"Quiet," Marellia replied. "Too quiet."

"Then she's listening. Good. She'll need that skill."

"And the King?"

"He's just quiet." A thin smile.

"And Isla?"

"She leaves by dawn. Velmoor awaits."

Marellia hesitated. "Do you trust the Duchess?"

"No," the Empress said. "But fear sharpens ambition. Isla needs both."

She turned toward the mirror.

"And Elara?"

Marellia waited.

The Empress's smile faded. "She needs to be reminded that even flames die when starved of air."

Far beneath the palace, in a room no longer sealed, a scrap of parchment lay hidden in a broken lantern.

A name.

A sigil.

A warning.

"The Flame Sovereign shall not rise unopposed."

In the royal war room, King Theron dismissed the council early.

He claimed fatigue. But truthfully, his thoughts were elsewhere, haunted by fire, by a girl who bore Seraphina's eyes, and by Roran's silence.

He remained by the window long after the chamber emptied, eyes tracing the horizon.

 Could Seraphina have survived?

The question echoed in his bones like a ghost.

Far beneath the palace, in the silent catacombs where old kings slept, a cloaked figure moved through the dark.

No guards.

No footsteps.

Only silence.

They paused before a tomb, unmarked by name but remembered by blood.

They lit a single candle and placed it at the base of the stone.

The flame flickered.

And the figure whispered:

"Flame Sovereign… the court begins to remember