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LIORA

S eraphiel’s court doesn’t have walls.

Not in the way mortals understand them.

There are no bricks. No doors. Just endless stretches of black marble veined with glowing red. The ceiling—if you can call it that—shifts like smoke trapped under glass. The air hums with the kind of power that makes your bones feel hollow, like it’s waiting to rewrite you from the inside out.

And I am so tired of being rewritten.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Time stretches and snaps like thread soaked in fire. Sometimes the sky bleeds. Sometimes the shadows whisper. Sometimes I forget what day it is or if I’ve eaten. If I’ve slept.

But I remember him.

That’s the one thing this place can’t take from me.

Dante.

His name lives behind my ribs, even when everything else feels hopeless.

I don’t know if he remembers me. I don’t know if the spell worked all the way, or if some part of him still aches the way I do.

Gods, I hope he aches. Because I can’t stand the thought of being the only one hurting.

I pace the chamber Seraphiel’s confined me to—less a prison, more a shrine, which is somehow worse. The floor glows faintly with sigils meant to suppress my magic. My shadows twitch at the brink of their reach, but they won’t cross.

They can’t.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood and drop to the floor, drawing another set of symbols in the dust. Trying to find a crack. A weakness. Something to use.

He thinks I’m a weapon. But he keeps forgetting—I’m also a tactician.

It happens late, when the torches flicker blue and the wind shifts like something ancient just moved through it.

I hear them. Whispers. Low. Urgent. Angry.

I press my back to the cold stone and listen.

“…he’s pushing too far?—”

“…the bond wasn’t supposed to be broken yet, he’s rushing this ceremony?—”

“…she’s more than even he understands?—”

I narrow my eyes. Not guards. Not loyalists.

Insiders.

And they’re afraid. Good.

Seraphiel walks around like a god, but even gods can bleed if you press hard enough. Especially when their own people start questioning the doctrine.

I wait until the voices fade before I move.

Back to the sigils. Back to my planning.

If there are cracks in the foundation, I’ll find them. Exploit them. Shatter them if I have to. Because I’m not dying in this place. And I’m sure as hell not marrying a monster in molten armor who thinks obsession is devotion and my power is his to wield.

The next day—or hour, or whatever time passes here—Riven comes.

He doesn’t knock. Just appears in the doorway like a painting come to life, all silk and sin and that permanent smirk that makes me want to set something on fire.

“You look radiant,” he says, voice honeyed poison. “Caged suits you.”

I glare. “Go choke on your own reflection.”

His grin widens. “Still got bite. That’ll change soon enough.”

He steps closer, and I push to my feet slowly, jaw tight.

“What do you want?”

He circles me, hands behind his back like he’s strolling through a garden and not a power-dampened chamber meant to break me.

“There’s a… gathering,” he says. “Seraphiel thought it might be time for you to see what your union will command.”

My stomach flips.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He leans in close, breath ghosting my neck.

“You don’t have a choice, darling. You gave that up the moment you let the wolf go.”

Something in me snaps .

I elbow him in the ribs, hard enough to make him stumble. My shadows flare, barely touching the edge of the sigil line before they sizzle and die.

I curse under my breath.

Riven straightens, jaw clenched, but smiling.

“Oh, you’re going to be fun when you’re finally broken.”

“Keep waiting,” I hiss. “I’m not yours. I’ll never be his.”

He chuckles, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “We’ll see.”

Later, when I’m alone again, I dig into the sigils with raw fingers.

I don’t stop when they bleed. Because this place, this throne room in a realm built on fear? It breathes betrayal. And now I know for sure—there’s dissent. Cracks in the loyalty. Rumors in the ranks. That’s all I need.

A spark.

And I’ll burn this place to the fucking ground.