The world vanished in darkness.
Seraphine barely had time to draw breath before the shadows wrapped around her, weightless yet suffocating. There was no sky, no ground, no sense of direction—only the cold press of magic pulling her through the void.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended.
She stumbled forward, boots striking solid stone, her vision adjusting to dim torchlight. The air smelled damp, tinged with iron and something older—like the remnants of a storm long passed. The space around her was vast, but not a palace or temple. No polished marble or gilded walls.
A cave.
She turned sharply. "Where have you taken me?"
Caius stood a few feet away, unwinding his cloak. In the dim light, his features looked sharper—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes that burned like embers in a dying fire. He looked entirely at ease, as if he hadn't just shattered an execution and dragged her through a veil of darkness.
His lips curled. "You're welcome, by the way."
Seraphine's pulse thundered. "That wasn't a rescue. That was a slaughter."
He shrugged. "You would have burned."
"And dozens of innocent people wouldn't have died."
Caius arched a brow. "Innocent? The same nobles who watched as they tied you in chains? The same Inquisitors who have condemned sorcerers for generations?" He took a slow step closer, his voice quiet but sharp. "Tell me, Seraphine—how many of them lifted a finger to save you?"
Her hands clenched.
He was right.
She hated that he was right.
She had seen their faces, had met their cold, impassive gazes as they gathered to watch her burn. They had whispered about her family's downfall in the same breath they praised the Inquisition. They had feasted while her people starved.
But that didn't mean she was like him.
Seraphine took a slow breath, steadying herself. "You should have let me die."
Caius chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, little sorceress," he murmured. "You still don't understand, do you?"
He reached into his cloak, pulling out something small and glinting in the firelight. He tossed it toward her.
Seraphine caught it on instinct.
Cold metal met her skin. A ring.
Not just any ring—hers.
The House Duskborne crest was carved into the gold, the serpent entwined around a rose. A family heirloom. One that had been lost when the Inquisition raided her home, when her mother had been dragged into the dark and never seen again.
Her throat tightened.
"How did you—?"
Caius tilted his head. "I know many things, Lady Duskborne. And I know that the Inquisition did not simply accuse your family of sorcery." His voice was quiet, edged with something almost unreadable. "They were hunting something. Or someone."
Her fingers tightened around the ring.
"My mother," she whispered.
Caius nodded. "They took her. And they burned your father in the streets."
The memories crashed over her like a tide—her father's screams, the scent of charred flesh, the way her mother had vanished before dawn, leaving only bloodstains behind.
Seraphine's breath came sharp. "Why do you care?"
Caius didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them. She refused to back away.
"I care," he murmured, "because your fate is tied to mine."
The air between them felt charged, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name.
She hated this. Hated how easily he got under her skin. Hated that part of her—some foolish, reckless part—wanted to believe him.
Seraphine forced herself to look away. "Where are we?"
"The ruins beneath Ashenhold." Caius turned, pacing toward an arched stone doorway. "Few know they exist. Fewer still know how to navigate them."
She swallowed. Ashenhold. The capital city of the fallen Veyne Empire. His empire.
The place he had been exiled from long before she was born.
Her gaze flickered to the shadows curling around his wrists, slithering like living things. She had heard the stories—of the prince cursed by the gods, the blood-stained heir who had been cast out after slaughtering his own kin.
And now, he had returned.
Seraphine exhaled. "You still haven't told me what you want."
Caius smirked. "That's simple." He met her gaze, eyes burning. "I want vengeance."
---
The Ties That Bind
Seraphine's heart pounded, but her expression did not waver. "Vengeance against who?"
Caius leaned against the stone wall, arms crossing over his chest. "The same people who condemned you. The same people who took your mother."
"The Inquisition."
"And the Crown," he added smoothly. "Make no mistake, Seraphine. The king and his council are no strangers to bloodshed. They knew what the High Inquisitor was doing. They encouraged it."
She knew that, deep down.
But knowing and accepting were two different things.
She took a slow step back. "And where do I fit into this? What do you really want from me?"
Caius studied her for a long moment. Then, he lifted his hand.
The shadows shifted.
A symbol flared to life on the back of his palm—intricate, ancient, glowing with the same eerie fire as his eyes. A second later, Seraphine's wrist burned.
She hissed, yanking back, but it was too late. The same symbol pulsed against her own skin, marking her. Binding her.
Magic. Old magic.
A blood oath.
Seraphine's breath hitched. "What have you done?"
Caius smirked. "What was necessary."
She lunged at him. He caught her wrist effortlessly, holding it between them.
"Our fates were entwined long before this night, little sorceress," he murmured, his grip firm but not cruel. "This only ensures you don't run before you hear the truth."
Seraphine's pulse thundered. She wanted to deny it. To deny him.
But as the magic thrummed between them, as the weight of something ancient settled into her bones, she knew—
This was only the beginning.