The rebellion wanted a vow.
A blood-bound oath that would seal my name into their forgotten cause, branding me as one of them forever.
But the Empire… had other plans.
I was summoned again this time to a private chamber in the east wing, far from the throne room.
When I entered, only the Emperor stood there. No guards. No council. Just him, and a single scroll resting on the table between us.
"I expected you to vanish into the shadows after your stunt in the archives," he said, pouring himself wine.
"I thought you wanted to kill me."
He smiled faintly. "I never kill weapons I can aim."
He pushed the scroll toward me.
"A treaty," he explained. "Sign it, and you'll be named heir to your mother's title. The lands of Dorne will be restored. You'll be free… under my rule."
My mouth went dry.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then your rebellion will burn. Your Phoenix will fall again. And next time, I won't let you come back."
He turned to leave.
"One more thing," he said, without looking back. "That boy, Kael? He's got the blood of kings in his veins. And if he chooses you… he'll fall too."
That night, I stood once again beneath the greenhouse—this time surrounded by the rebellion's inner circle. The woman who'd given me the phoenix ring now knelt before me, holding a dagger and a chalice.
"Swear the Oath," she said, "and the Phoenix rises."
But I couldn't ignore the voice in my head.
My mother's last words echoed:
"Let her choose…"
I looked at the blade. Then at my hand.
And I said
"No."
Gasps filled the chamber.
"I'll fight with you," I said. "I'll burn every liar and chain they put around us. But I won't be owned by the Phoenix any more than I'll be owned by a throne."
The rebel woman rose slowly.
"You would lead without binding?"
"I would lead by choosing, not by bleeding."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then slowly one by one, they bowed.
Not out of fear.
Not out of magic.
But choice.
And for the first time… I felt like me.
Later that night, as I stared at my reflection, something shifted.
The rune on my collarbone shimmered no longer burning gold, but soft and silver, like a second mark.
And then
"Seraphina."
The Gate's voice echoed inside my head. Not a whisper this time. A summons.
I clutched the edge of the mirror.
And it bled.
A single streak of red dripped down the glass, and with it, an image flashed:
The Gate.
Wide open.
A figure walking through it… in my face, but not my soul.
Someone else had crossed.
Someone pretending to be me.