Chapter 553: Seraphine’s Kiss

"Some poisons wear perfume and smile sweetly."

At twilight, the camp grew silent as a stranger entered through the mist. She moved with elegance, her veil shimmering in the low light, her steps silent on gravel.

The guards didn't stop her.

They couldn't.

Jayden stepped out of his tent, sword sheathed but hand ready. One look at her, and something in him stirred—a memory, perhaps… or a warning.

"I don't like surprises," he said coldly.

She smiled, tilting her head. "Then you'll absolutely hate me."

Seraphine sat beside the fire, her presence commanding without effort. Even Rian stared, unsure whether to be afraid or fascinated. Her voice was honey and poison, her words weaving comfort and intrigue in the same breath.

"I've traveled far, following a whisper… a legend of a boy born to reset the world. And of the man who guards him."

Jayden didn't blink. "Flattery won't earn you trust."

She leaned forward. "Then let me earn your curiosity."

Naela narrowed her eyes from across the flames. She knew seduction when she saw it—and she saw danger.

That night, Seraphine slipped into Jayden's tent unannounced.

"You knew I'd come," she whispered, stepping close. "Your blood calls to mine. You don't know why… but I do."

Jayden didn't flinch as she ran a finger along his collarbone. His hand closed around her wrist—not gently.

"I've killed women with softer lies."

"But none as useful," she replied, lips nearly grazing his cheek. "You want to protect the boy, yes? Then take me as your ally… or your mistress."

Jayden's voice turned ice. "I don't mix protection with pleasure."

She chuckled. "You will."

He shoved her back—lightly. Not with fear, but fury.

"You're trying to crawl into my skin. But if I find even a shadow of poison in your breath…"

"I know," she interrupted, with a wicked smile. "You'll bury me under the name Jayden Ochieng."

He froze.

She knew.

Outside, Naela waited in the dark, knuckles white against her blade. She didn't enter.

She didn't need to.

Her heart already knew: a storm had entered the camp, and it wore silk and secrets.

Rian dreamt of a burning forest. At its center stood a woman, laughing as trees screamed and skies bled. He tried to run—but roots dragged him back.

When he awoke, he found a single black feather on his chest.

And his fingers smelled faintly of rosewater.