Song vibe: Jimin – Lie

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  SAPHIRA

  The Drawing Room, Firestone

  She did not have to look up to know Rell had entered the Drawing Room—the sound of his boots, strong and sure; his wild scent; the soft tap of his finger against the hilt of his sword.

  He knelt beside her—not in deference, but readiness.

  “Take Dusty,” she murmured. Rell's hands outstretched. She did not move the leopard—forcing him to draw closer, close enough that she could feel his hands brushing against her lap.

  “It’s her,” she breathed into his ear.

  He froze for half a heartbeat, then straightened—Dusty in his arms, expression unreadable.

  “Lock the door,” Saphira said quietly, her heart drumming. “She doesn’t leave my room. Bring Felix or August to settle her. Understand?”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Rell replied. “Fully.”

  Marigold’s eyes followed him, full of motherly reproach.

  They all think we’re too close, Saphira thought. But she doesn't understand. This is life and death. But Rell understood—he won't let Gorda leave, and Felix is coming.

  She watched Rell carry Dusty into the next chamber and turn the key. His footsteps faded, then returned—steady, deliberate—taking position outside the door.

  “Quite close, you and young Aurelian, are you not?” Gorda asked with a small, lilting laugh. “I can practically hear your heart beating from here.”

  “He’s Lord Nocturne’s squire,” Saphira replied. “They're like father and son."

  “Then you keep him close, too,” Gorda murmured. "It's nice to have someone your age to talk to."

  The air shifted—subtle, predatory. Saphira felt it at once: the sickening tug beneath her ribs as Gorda’s magic brushed against her will, coaxing her toward obedience. The pull was gentle, expert, a velvet thread winding through her thoughts. Had she not been ready for it, she might have mistaken it for her own impulse.

  Worse, Marigold and Astra both smiled placidly, eyes glassy and compliant. Conversation carried on, brittle and meaningless. Saphira forced her breathing steady, her pulse loud in her ears. If she can hear my heartbeat, let her think it’s for Rell—not for fear.

  “A drink, then.” Gorda’s finger ran over the rim of her teacup. “To Lord Nocturne’s safe return.”

  “We all look forward,” Marigold said, lifting her cup. “Saphira most of all, I’m sure. I can hardly bear being without my husband."

  Thank you, Marigold. You’ve got my back. Saphira exhaled softly, sipping from her own cup.

  “I always hated it when my Caelus was gone,” Astra croaked, coughing into her sleeve as she took another sip. “By the fae, this is sweet.” She peered into the cup, swirling the liquid. “What’s in this brew?”

  A sharp knock broke the question.

  “Lady Saphira,” came Rell’s voice. “A moment, please.”

  “I beg your leave,” Saphira said, rising with a serene smile. “Please—enjoy the refreshments. I’ll return shortly.”

  Once the door closed, her poise vanished like smoke as she grabbed Rell's forearm for support.

  "Felix is in the Solar," Rell said. "August is coming."

  "Did you feel it too?"

  “Yeah,” Rell whispered, grabbing her hand. “She reeks of magic.” His voice darkened. “Let me kill her.”

  “Not yet,” she breathed. “Stand guard. No one leaves that room.”

  She turned, gathering her skirts, and hurried down the corridor toward the safety of Nocturne’s Solar. Felix was waiting inside, tension written across his face as she delivered the news.

  “Are you certain, m’lady?” he asked.

  “Yes. She's the mage Rell fought. We need her alive—so we can find the assassin."

  Felix’s jaw tightened. “I want Marigold safe.”

  “Rell is guarding,” Saphira said, steady but pale. “You send everyone away. August is coming."

  "We can't wait for him." Felix's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “Let’s move.”

  Saphira steadied herself, the hall spinning faintly. I feel sick.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She pressed her fingers to her temples and forced a composed smile.

  Felix’s hand found hers, a quick squeeze of reassurance. His eyes said everything: You’re not alone.

  She nodded once. He’s right. I can do this.

  “Now smile,” she murmured to herself.

  Rell opened the door.

  Saphira entered the room again, Felix at her side. Before she could speak, he scratched his head, disarmingly casual. “Forgive the interruption, ladies. Isais woke screaming—terrible dream. Marigold, best you go to him in the apothecary. Not even Verity’s herbs will calm him.”

  “Right away,” Marigold said, though her eyes betrayed no panic—only resolve. She grasped Livia's hand. "Come with me, child."

  She understands.

  Felix turned to Astra, kneeling before her chair. “My Lady, please examine him while the dream’s still fresh, I—”

  “Child,” Astra said gently, patting his hand. “You need only ask.”

  Felix nodded, grateful. Maxine helped Astra into her wheelchair and pushed her away.

  Rell shut the door behind them.

  Silence fell. Only Rell’s quiet shifting broke it, the faint scuff of his leather boots on the stone. Gorda, still seated, studied Felix and Saphira over the rim of her teacup.

  “So, cousin,” she said softly, putting her cup down squarely on the saucer. “What’s this about? Uncle Quintus is missing. And here you both are—armed to the teeth.”

  Felix and Saphira exchanged a glance. How do we start this? We have no proof.

  The air grew heavy. Rell was poised to pounce.

  “Circumstances have changed.” Felix’s hand dropped to the hilt of his hooked swords. “ You’ll move to the guest wing—for your safety.”

  Gorda smiled thinly. “That’s a polished way of saying prisoner."

  The silence lingered; Saphira sniffed once, fighting the urge to vomit.

  "Fine. What’s the charge, cousin? What—” Her hand trembled suddenly. A bright bead of blood slid from her nose. “Did you—?”

  Saphira’s breath caught. The room tilted. Her pulse faltered. She touched her nose and pulled away her hand. Blood dripped from her fingertips. “Rell—”

  Gorda’s chair toppled as she collapsed, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

  Was it Astra? Did she poison—?

  “Saphira!”

  Rell's shout sounded far away. The edges of the room bent and swayed, colours draining like ink into water. The world tilted, and the stone rose like a tide to swallow her—until Rell caught her, solid and warm against the cold.

  Above: Rell catches Saphira.

  “Marigold… she might have...” Felix breathed, half-running for the door.

  “She’s the Lady of Firestone!” Rell barked, already dropping to his knees. He tore at Saphira’s bodice, ripping fabric and sending buttons skittering across the stone. “She’s not breathing—” His hands hovered over her sternum. “Felix, she's dying—your sword. Now!”

  Felix hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then he spun, drawing a hooked blade. “Find Marigold,” he ordered. “Get her to Verity!”

  Rell nodded once and bolted from the room.

  Felix gathered Saphira into his arms. The curved steel flared green, the colour draining from his hands to feed the healing magic. His skin blackened as the cursed magic took hold—his lifeforce, traded to heal hers.

  “Stay with me.” He pressed the flat of one blade against her bare chest.

  The hum of the blade filled the air, deep and resonant—an unholy heartbeat answering her silence. The glow reflected in Felix’s eyes, painting them the same impossible green.

  The scent of metal and dying flesh filled the air. Saphira’s back arched—her body convulsed—then her heart kicked once, twice, hard against the steel.

  Pain tore through her like fire. Breath clawed its way back into her lungs, each gasp sharper than the last. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw Nocturne—his silhouette in the green light—then it was only Felix, shaking, black veins creeping up his arms as his lifeforce drained.

  Above: Felix heals Saphira with his cursed blade.

  Felix’s breath hitched. His arms shook, the corruption creeping up to his elbows. He gritted his teeth, eyes wet. “Come on, Saph. Breathe.”

  Her chest rose with a gasp. Air flooded her lungs. The pounding in her heart returned—slow, but steady.

  "That's enough." Felix let out a ragged sob as he lowered her gently to the floor. “Stay alive. August’s here now.”

  Felix forced himself upright, black veins creeping higher as he staggered from the room, shouting for Marigold.

  Saphira blinked against the blur of lamplight. The overturned teacups still steamed faintly on the table, the air thick with the sweet, bitter scent of foxglove—laced with something darker. She looked for Gorda, expecting a lifeless body. But the space was empty.

  Gorda had vanished.

  It wasn’t Astra. It was Gorda. Tea poisoned—a distraction, assassination... or something else?

  August strode in, the three members of his syndicate at his heels.

  “Poison,” Saphira rasped, trying to cover herself. “Gorda—escaped.”

  “Find her,” August ordered. Coral and Misha were gone before the words finished leaving his mouth.

  He unclasped his cloak and knelt beside her, wrapping the thick wool over her torn bodice. His eyes swept her quickly, assessing her. “You hurt—?”

  “You go,” she whispered. “Felix kept me alive.”

  “No. Nox gave orders. You first.” He lifted a teacup, sniffed the dregs. “Foxglove and snakeroot. Predictable.” He set it down, jaw tightening as he looked to the remaining member of his syndicate. “Bako. Tell Verity. Assist with healing.”

  Without another word, August slid his arms beneath Saphira and lifted her easily.

  Saphira’s fingers twitched weakly against his shirt. “Gorda… she—”

  “I know.” His voice softened. “You’re cold. Stay with me.”

  "August..." The strength that Felix had forced back into her body was already ebbing, replaced by a hollow ache that spread through her bones. August’s heartbeat was steady against her cheek. Her head fell against his shoulder.

  "Lock the castle down; seal this room," August commanded a guard.

  Above: August carries Saphira to the apothecary.

  The hall blurred—torchlight, stone, shouts echoing down the corridor. August’s voice chased the darkness closing in around her.

  “Keep awake, Saph. Don’t you dare die."

  As the shadows closed, she thought she heard another voice—Felix’s or Nocturne’s, she could not tell—murmuring her name through the dark.

  The last thing she felt was his hand in her hair, the faint heat of his magic brushing her skin as he whispered a spell to hold her from the poison and the dark.

  The world folded in on itself—green light, foxglove—and finally, silence. Firestone fell away.