The council chamber did not recover.
It fractured.
Guards surged in from every entrance, steel flashing beneath crimson wardlight. Lords shouted over one another, accusations colliding violently in the air. Ancient sigils flared as protective magic slammed into place, sealing the exits with thunderous force.
Seraphina stood at the center of it all, blood still humming violently beneath her skin.
The circle she had shattered smoldered at her feet—stone cracked, runes burned black. Proof of her power. Proof of her danger.
Proof the council would never ignore it again.
"Seize her!" someone shouted.
"No!" another voice countered. "She is Nightborne—by ancient law—"
"Ancient law is dead!" a southern lord roared. "She is unstable!"
Damien's grip tightened around her wrist.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
She turned sharply. "Do not command me."
Their eyes locked—his blazing with authority and fury, hers cold and unyielding.
Then the wards shifted.
Seraphina felt it instantly—a foreign magic threading through the chamber, subtle and invasive. Suppression magic. Old. Illegal in council grounds.
House Veyrath.
"They're forcing a containment protocol," she said quietly.
Damien swore. "They're trying to neutralize you before the council can rule."
Before anyone could react, chains of magic slammed up from the floor—thicker than before, etched with binding sigils designed specifically to counter blood magic.
Seraphina reacted instinctively, power surging
Pain exploded through her veins.
She cried out despite herself, knees buckling as the suppression magic bit deep, strangling her connection to the surrounding blood. The chains wrapped her torso, her arms, her throat—cold, merciless.
"Enough!" Damien roared. His power flared violently, cracking the nearest ward.
Too late.
The member of council from earlier rose slowly, face pale but resolute. "For the safety of the realm," she said, "Seraphina Nightborne is to be placed in temporary containment until a ruling is reached."
"Temporary?" Seraphina rasped, lifting her head. "You mean silenced."
"This is precaution," the woman replied.
Seraphina laughed weakly. "That is what traitors always call fear."
Damien stepped forward, fury radiating from him. "You will not imprison her."
A lord sneered. "You forget yourself, Valcourt."
Damien's voice dropped, lethal. "I never forget."
The chamber trembled.
For a heartbeat, Seraphina thought he might actually start a civil war right there.
Then she felt it—the deeper pull of the bond tightening sharply, urging restraint, strategy.
She met his gaze and shook her head once.
Not now.
The chains dragged her backward.
She did not resist.
Let them think her subdued.
Let them underestimate her—again.
The holding chambers lay far beneath the council halls.
Ancient stone. Old magic. The kind built to hold monsters and kings alike.
Seraphina was thrown into a cell etched with suppression sigils so dense the air itself felt heavy. The door slammed shut, iron and magic sealing together with a finality that made lesser beings shudder.
She leaned against the wall, breathing slowly.
Her blood magic was muted—but not gone.
Never gone.
Footsteps approached.
She did not look up when Damien stopped outside the cell.
"You should not be here," she said quietly.
"And yet," he replied, "I am."
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
"You allowed them to chain you," he said finally.
"I chose timing over pride," she replied. "There is a difference."
He studied her through the bars, amber eyes dark. "They will try to break you."
"They will fail."
"They will try to use you."
She lifted her head, then gazed razor-sharp. "Let them try."
Damien exhaled slowly. "You don't understand the council's fear."
"Oh, I do," she said. "They fear what they cannot own."
A beat.
"They're moving faster than expected," he admitted. "House Veyrath is pushing for permanent confinement."
Her lips curved faintly. "Of course they are."
"And," he added grimly, "they are demanding access to your blood records."
That wiped the smile from her face.
"That cannot happen," she said coldly. "There are truths buried in my blood that would destabilize the realm."
"I know."
Their gazes locked.
The bond surged violently now—heat, tension, urgency. Seraphina's pulse quickened against her will.
Damien stepped closer to the bars. "Listen to me," he said. "If they proceed with a full extraction, it will not end with answers. It will end with execution."
She straightened. "Then you know what must be done."
His jaw tightened. "You are asking me to betray the council."
"I am asking you to choose," she replied softly. "The lie you protect… or the truth you fear."
Silence.
Then footsteps echoed again—multiple this time.
Seraphina's senses sharpened.
Something was wrong.
Too quiet.
Too deliberate.
Damien turned sharply as a group of guards approached—not royal guards.
Veyrath colors.
"By order of the council," the lead guard announced, "the prisoner is to be transferred."
Damien's eyes flashed. "That order did not pass through me."
The guard hesitated—just a fraction.
Enough.
Seraphina moved.
She slammed her palm against the suppression sigil, pouring raw will into it. The rune flickered—just once.
Damien reacted instantly.
Steel rang.
Blood splashed.
The corridor erupted into chaos as blades flashed and magic collided violently against ancient stone. Damien fought like a force of nature, cutting through guards with ruthless precision.
Seraphina ripped the weakened sigil free.
Her power surged back like a flood.
The cell door exploded outward.
She stepped into the corridor, eyes glowing faintly amber.
"House Veyrath," she said calmly, "has just committed treason."
She raised her hand.
The corridor filled with blood.
When it was over, bodies littered the stone floor. The air smelled of iron and burned magic.
Seraphina turned to Damien.
"We are out of time," she said.
He nodded grimly. "Then we run."
"No," she replied. "We strike."
Before he could respond, a deep horn blast echoed through the underground halls.
Alarm.
Lockdown.
Seraphina felt it then—something ancient stirring beneath the castle.
Something that had been waiting.
Her blood responded instinctively.
Damien stared at her, realization dawning.
"What are you?" he asked quietly.
She met his gaze, power roaring beneath her skin.
"Not their prisoner," she said.
And somewhere above them, the kingdom began to burn.