The manor was quiet and warm, a sharp contrast to their soaked clothes. Her steward was already lighting the hearth in the east wing. The others moved quickly and quietly, speaking only when needed. Emberkeep Manor felt like a safe zone, one step removed from everything they had left behind.
Seraphina didn't let go of Caelan until they reached the bathing chamber. Her two senior stewards helped lower him onto a bench. One brought in towels, the other laid out dry clothes. No one asked questions. No one looked him in the eye. Everything about their movements was measured and respectful.
Seraphina stepped forward and prepared the bath herself. She rolled up her sleeves, knelt by the basin, and held her hands over the steaming water. Her magic flowed into it, a calm, steady healing spell that would relax his body and ease the tension in his nerves. The water rippled as her power took hold.
"It'll help," she said quietly.
She turned to the stewards. "Stay with him until he's in. Then give him privacy."
They nodded. She stepped out and left them to it.
In the guest chamber, Seraphina stripped off her wet layers and pulled on a dry robe. She didn't light extra candles or adjust the fire. She sat down near it, hands in her lap, and waited.
Her mind wasn't quiet. She kept replaying everything she'd seen. The moment she had entered that room. The way Caelan hadn't moved. How empty his eyes looked.
She'd seen him injured before. Seen him bloodied and furious in battle. But this was different. This wasn't pain that could be fixed with salve or sleep. This was something that tried to take a person apart.
And she hadn't stopped it in time.
She hated that.
But she could still be here. Still give him something real.
She would stand by him as long as it took. And she wouldn't let him face any of it alone again.
She shifted on the cushion, leaning forward slightly, elbows on her knees. The fire gave off a slow, steady heat. Her damp hair clung to her neck, but she didn't notice. All her attention was trained on the door.
Her heart was still racing, even though her breathing had slowed. Every part of her felt keyed up, like her body hadn't caught up to the fact that they were no longer in danger.
She wanted to pace. To do something. But movement wouldn't help. He needed peace, not more urgency.
Her eyes kept flicking to the door. Minutes passed. Then it opened.
Caelan stepped in. His hair was damp. His cheeks were flushed from the bath. His movements were careful, slow, like he was measuring each one. His eyes weren't vacant anymore, but they weren't steady either.
She stood without a word.
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
She walked to him and helped him dress. Her hands were gentle, never lingering too long. She didn't speak. Just buttoned his shirt, pulled the sleeves over his arms, and guided him to the chair by the fire.
He sat. She pulled a blanket over his shoulders.
Then she sat beside him.
Neither moved. The fire cracked softly. He watched the flames without blinking.
She didn't reach for him right away. She just stayed close.
The storm outside returned. Rain hit the windows. Wind creaked through the old frames.
The room stayed quiet.
And for now, that was enough.
Still, Seraphina kept watching him. She could see the tension in his shoulders. He wasn't resting. Not fully. Whatever had been done to him wasn't just physical. It was inside him now, knotting everything up.
She wanted to tell him he wasn't broken. That nothing taken from him could define who he was. But she stayed quiet.
He needed space. He needed to be seen without being asked to speak.
Her gaze dropped to the bruise on his collarbone. Her throat tightened, but she didn't react. Instead, she leaned back and stayed there. Steady. Solid.
She remembered the first time she had seen Caelan lose control, not in battle, but in grief. He had locked himself in the archive after hearing news from the northern border. She had found him sitting on the floor, hands in his hair, surrounded by broken shelves. He hadn't said a word that time either.
But she had stayed. Then, too.
This time was different, but the core of it was the same. She would stay. She didn't care how long it took.
The storm howled. Caelan pulled the blanket in tighter.
She moved to the floor and knelt in front of him. Slowly, she reached for his hand. No pressure.
He didn't pull away.
She held it. And didn't let go.
The storm outside raged, but the fire kept burning.
And Seraphina stayed with him, quiet and firm.
She wasn't leaving.
Evelyne's POV
She had been stripped of her triumph before it could even settle. One moment, she was winning, his body had responded, his mouth had said the name she gave him, and the next, Seraphina had torn it all apart.
Evelyne paced her chamber now, hair damp, mouth tight. Her dress had been ruined in the scuffle. Her pride fared worse.
They had seen. The whole court. They saw Seraphina wrap him up like a wounded prize and carry him out like a hero. They didn't understand. They never would.
She had almost had him. He had come apart in her hands. Had whispered Seraphina's name over and over with devotion she couldn't fake if she tried.
And why shouldn't he? She had made herself into everything he wanted. Every word, every touch, carefully shaped to be familiar. She hadn't even planned on using the potion at first. Most people didn't require it. Her charm usually did the work. But she had stumbled across the ingredients on Alaric's desk one evening when she visited his office. A curious list, looks harmless if you didn't know what to look for. She did. And maybe, she thought, Alaric had been planning to use it on Seraphina once he realized she was slipping away from him. That was his way, control dressed up as concern.
She copied and had taken the list to a potions master in the lower district. Had it brewed and bottled. Just in case.
She hadn't used it. Not until tonight. Not until Caelan, who was too composed, too disciplined, too damn difficult.
The potion had done the rest.
So why did it feel like defeat?
She stopped at the mirror, stared at herself.
He had called out for Seraphina. Again and again.
Even after.
Even while she had him.
That was what stung most.
Not the scandal. Not the whispers. But the knowledge that even when she had taken everything from him, even then, she had never truly been what he wanted.
Seraphina had arrived in time to stop her. But it wouldn't always be that way.
Evelyne leaned closer to the glass, voice low.
"Next time, he won't be pulled away. Next time, I won't need tricks. He'll choose me."
And she believed it.