The Echo of Crimson Lies

Ravenhold's western wing always felt like it belonged to another realm—one untouched by light or laughter. The walls here remembered things. The air tasted like secrets. Even time itself slowed, as though unwilling to pass through this haunted corridor.

Seraphina stirred in her bed, her breath shallow, the sheets tangled around her legs like vines pulling her down. Sweat soaked through her nightdress, plastering it to her skin. The mark over her heart, once blazing, now pulsed faintly—like an ember that refused to die.

She opened her eyes.

"Mira…" Her voice cracked like glass underfoot.

The door flung open. Mira burst in, her face pale with worry, hair tousled like she'd torn her hands through it all night.

"You're awake," she breathed, crossing the room in seconds. "Gods, Sera, I thought you weren't coming back."

"I'm not sure I did," Seraphina whispered.

Mira sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning Seraphina's face. "You were burning one moment, then freezing cold. I wrapped you in three blankets and you still shook like you were walking through the Deadlands."

"I saw something. No—someone."

Mira's expression tightened. "The Heart Tree?"

Seraphina nodded, each word feeling like it had to claw its way out. "He was waiting. In the roots. In the blood. My mother… she didn't curse me to protect me. She tethered me to him."

A gust of silence passed between them.

Mira's voice lowered. "Who?"

"He wore a crown of thorns and ash," Seraphina said. "His eyes were endless night. He called me bride."

Mira froze. Her face went still like the breath had been knocked from her. "That's not possible."

Before either could say more, the door slammed open with violent finality.

Rowan.

His armor was spattered with mud. The mist clung to his cloak like ghosts refusing to let go. His eyes—once guarded—were now wild.

"They know."

Mira stood. "Who knows what?"

"The Council," Rowan growled. "They know she touched the Heart Tree. They know she's marked. There's a bounty on her head, Sera. They've declared you an enemy of the realm."

"Then someone betrayed us," Mira snapped.

Rowan nodded grimly. "There's a spy inside Ravenhold."

Seraphina rose from the bed, clutching the bedpost for balance. Her voice was low. "Let them come. I'm done hiding."

Rowan crossed the room and held her by the shoulders, eyes fierce. "They're not coming to question you. They're coming to end you."

Seraphina stared at him, something ancient rising behind her eyes.

"Then they better pray I don't get to them first."

---

The war chamber was already aflame with tension by the time Seraphina entered.

Candles trembled as if afraid. A cold draft twisted through the stone arches like a warning. Mira and Rowan stood on opposite ends of the war table, glaring at the newest arrival.

Lady Lysara.

Silver-haired, robed in dark plum velvet and feathers, she looked like a crow dressed for court. Her presence was all elegance and venom.

"You've grown," she purred when Seraphina stepped into view.

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "You know me?"

"I knew your mother," Lysara replied. "Before she betrayed the realm. Before she sealed you."

Mira's voice was full of venom. "You were exiled. For treason."

"Vision," Lysara corrected coolly. "I foresaw the fall of this kingdom. I simply tried to delay it. What have you done lately, Mira? Play house in the woods?"

Seraphina's voice sliced through the tension. "Why are you here?"

"To deliver a truth your allies would keep from you," Lysara said. "The curse on your heart wasn't a prison. It was an invitation. A bond, yes—but also a legacy. You were never meant to escape it."

Rowan scoffed. "She lies."

Seraphina stepped forward. "Then let her speak. I want every truth, every lie. I'm tired of shadows."

Lysara smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. "Your mother feared him not because he would hurt you—but because you would love him. That, my dear, was always your greatest danger. And your greatest weapon."

Seraphina's heart stuttered. The image returned: ash falling like snow, a silver crown gleaming, lips pressed to hers in a kiss that felt carved from ruin.

"And who is he?" she asked, voice trembling.

Lysara tilted her head. "He is the First King. The last wielder of the Thorn Pact. A being forged from grief and prophecy. His name is—"

A crack of thunder split the silence.

Seraphina staggered back. A vision bled through her mind like ink.

---

She stood in a field of silver grass, the sky burning violet above. Before her stood her mother, cloaked in red, hair wild and eyes full of pain.

"He's not your fate," her mother said. "He's your undoing."

"You made me his," Seraphina snapped.

"No. I tried to stop what had already begun."

Behind them, a figure rose—his shadow swallowing the horizon. The thorn-crowned king.

Seraphina turned toward him, her mother screaming behind her—

---

She jolted awake, gasping.

"Seraphina?" Mira rushed forward, but Seraphina held up a hand.

"He's calling me. He wants me to remember."

Rowan looked panicked. "You're not going to him."

Seraphina looked at him then—really looked. And for the first time, she saw the fear in his eyes was not for the kingdom.

It was for her.

"I have to know," she whispered. "Because the only way to end this—is to understand why it began."

And then she turned, walking out of the war chamber, leaving silence in her wake.

---

Night. The forest loomed like a cathedral of bones. The wind whispered names no living soul remembered.

Seraphina stood at the edge of the woods, her cloak billowing, eyes scanning the mists.

He came.

Valen.

A crown of thorns on his brow. His cloak blacker than starless skies. And those eyes—oh, those eyes—sucked the breath from her chest.

"You heard me," he said.

She didn't answer. Her heartbeat was too loud. Her thoughts too wild.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I want you," he said simply. "You are the heir to the Thorn Pact. Your blood is the key. Your soul the gate."

"You speak of fate as if I should thank you for it."

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.

"You are not a victim of fate. You are fate, Seraphina. You are what happens when love is betrayed and power refuses to die."

He held out his hand. Vines of silver writhed beneath his skin.

"Come to me."

She shook her head. "I don't trust you."

His smile was sharp. "Good. Trust is for fools. Power is for those who choose it."

She stepped forward, her heart warring with every step.

"Tell me the truth."

"The curse was a wedding vow," he said. "Made before time remembered your name. Your mother tried to sever it. But it only made it stronger."

He cupped her face.

"Say my name."

The world seemed to still.

She closed her eyes.

"Valen."

The name echoed through the trees, and they bent inward—listening.

He kissed her.

It wasn't soft.

It was the kind of kiss that tasted like fire and finality. Like promises carved into bone.

And she kissed him back.

Because part of her had always been waiting for this.

When she pulled away, she whispered, "This changes nothing."

But Valen smiled, eyes glowing.

"It changes everything."

---

Far away, in the war chamber, Rowan stood alone. A single silver blossom rested on the war table—its petals pulsing with unnatural light.

It had bled.

And he knew.

She had chosen.

---