By the time Seraphina and Damien reached the upper corridors, the castle had changed.
Not visibly.
But she felt it.
The air was heavier, wards layered over wards until magic pressed uncomfortably against her skin. Doors that had once opened freely now required blood authorization. Guards stood in pairst instead of alone, eyes sharper, hands never far from weapons.
Containment disguised as order.
"They're afraid," Damien said quietly as they passed beneath an archway etched with fresh sigils.
"They should be," Seraphina replied.
But fear made rulers dangerous.
They reached a narrow antechamber overlooking the inner council hall. From the shadows, Seraphina watched lords gather again—faces tight, voices lowered, movements controlled. This was no longer public debate.
This was damage control.
"They're restructuring the narrative," Damien murmured. "By morning, you'll be painted as instability incarnate."
"Let them," she said. "Truth survives longer than lies."
He looked at her then—really looked.
"You still believe that?"
She did not answer.
Below, a senior councilman rose. "The Nightborne survivor is to be placed under provisional restriction," he declared. "For her own safety—and the realm's."
Seraphina's jaw tightened.
Restriction.
A prettier word for imprisonment.
Another voice followed. "She will reside within the eastern stronghold. Guarded. Observed."
Observed.
Her blood stirred uneasily.
Damien's voice dropped. "That wing was sealed decades ago."
"I know," Seraphina said softly. "My mother ordered it closed."
That caught his attention.
"She knew something," Damien said.
"Yes," Seraphina replied. "And she didn't trust the council with it."
Below, the council sealed the decision with ritual words older than the throne itself. Magic flared briefly, binding the decree into the stone.
Seraphina felt it settle—subtle, invasive.
A leash.
She stepped back from the balcony.
"They're separating us," Damien said quietly.
"Good," she replied.
He frowned. "Good?"
"They think isolation weakens me," she said. "It makes people careless."
Silence stretched between them.
"Be honest," Damien said. "Do you trust me?"
The question was quiet.
Dangerous.
She turned to face him fully. "Trust is a luxury I buried with my family."
Something flickered in his eyes—not anger. Hurt.
"They are watching every move you make now," he said. "Whatever you do next will be interpreted as threat."
"Then I will become one," she replied.
Footsteps echoed.
A council escort arrived—four guards, faces unreadable, posture rigid.
"Lady Nightborne," the lead guard said stiffly, "you are to come with us."
Seraphina inclined her head. Calm. Regal.
As they walked, the corridors narrowed, architecture shifting from grandeur to restraint. The eastern stronghold loomed ahead—ancient stone blackened with age, its presence oppressive.
She stopped once at the threshold.
Damien stood behind her.
"They are lying," he said under his breath. "About safety."
"I know," she replied.
"And if something happens to you—"
She turned. "You will do nothing reckless."
His jaw tightened. "You don't get to order me."
"I just did," she said softly.
For a moment, the bond strained—tight, painful, unresolved.
Then she stepped forward.
The gates closed behind her with a sound that echoed too long.
⸻
The chamber they gave her was not a cell.
That was the cruelty of it.
It was furnished. Warm. Lit by gentle witchlight. No chains. No visible restraints.
Only sigils—dozens of them—woven into the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
Watching.
Listening.
Learning.
Seraphina stood very still.
"They think I won't notice," she murmured.
She crossed the room slowly, tracing the edge of a sigil without touching it. Observation magic. Memory capture. Emotional resonance tracking.
"They want to know what I fear," she said quietly.
She smiled faintly.
"That was their first mistake."
She closed her eyes and let her breathing slow, blood magic curling inward—not outward.
Hiding.
Waiting.
Somewhere beyond the walls, magic shifted.
A presence brushed the edge of the chamber—not entering, not revealing itself.
Watching.
Seraphina opened her eyes.
"I know," she said calmly to the empty room. "You're still there."
The presence did not respond.
But the sigils pulsed once.
Acknowledgment.
Far above, the council believed they had secured the Nightborne threat.
They were wrong.
Because Seraphina was not trapped.
She was being positioned.
And whatever had begun watching her tonight was not done yet.
Not even close.