Through Flame and Time

Dawn's first light seeped through the palace, where bells echoed between stone columns, rousing slumbering conspiracies and memories. Aveline sat by her bedchamber window, thumbing through her father's old journal. The yellowed pages held elegant yet resolute handwriting, each entry pointing to one cryptic term—"the Fire Mark."

"The Fire Mark is not just punishment, but a vow."

She murmured the words again, tracing the ink with her fingertips. In the garden below, Lucian drilled with the royal guard. Sunlight glinted off his sword, its edge as cold as snow. His form stood as tall as a statue, each swing of his blade radiating untouchable majesty.

A sudden realization struck her: in this game, Lucian was no bystander—he'd been a player from the start.

At noon, an uninvited guest was ushered quietly into the antechamber.

"Your Highness," an elderly maid whispered, "a old friar claims to have served as your father's reader."

Aveline started, then ordered the man admitted.

Clad in a gray robe, his face lined with wrinkles, the friar's eyes shone with clarity. Bowing to Aveline, he drew a tightly wrapped metal box from his sleeve.

"Your father entrusted this to me before his death," he croaked, "with orders to return it only when you began unraveling the Fire Mark's mystery."

Aveline's hands trembled as she took the box. Inside lay a wax seal, its face embossed with the triple-ringed crest she'd seen in the hidden chamber.

"One of the royal private seals," Lucian said, approaching unnoticed. His gaze fixed on the seal, surprise flickering across his features.

"You recognize it?"

"It authenticated secret decrees—only the Regent and two privy councillors could use it."

The air seemed to freeze.

Aveline's mind raced: Why had her father possessed this seal? Was he a ringleader of the conspiracy, or a rebel posing as a conspirator?

She looked up at Lucian, her eyes searching: "If my father was the conspiracy's mastermind, would you still stand with me?"

Lucian's gaze softened: "I stand with you, Aveline. Not because of your father, but because of who you are."

He stepped closer, warm palms cupping her cheeks as he bent to kiss her. Aveline didn't pull back—instead, she kissed him back. The kiss burned hotter, spiraling out of control. He lifted her, laying her on the desk as scrolls tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

Her hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingertips brushing an old scar over his heart. He drew a ragged breath, murmuring: "If you are fire, I'll burn gladly."

Clothing fell away as desire surged. His whispers in her ear made her tremble in his grasp—the bed was no longer their only battlefield, and she was no longer a pawn to be moved.

As calm returned, Aveline leaned against Lucian, staring at the Fire Mark. "We must go to the Eastern Border," she said softly. "It's where Father last campaigned."

Lucian nodded, holding her tighter: "I'll arm myself for you. If truth is buried in blood and fire, we'll dig it out."

In the distance, a raven soared past the palace spires, vanishing into the sky.