Chapter 7: The Inquisitor’s Shadow

Morning broke in muted gold, its warmth unable to reach the stone walls of the palace.

The great hall was filled with ceremony. Nobles whispered along the marble aisles, their jewels glittering like frost. At the head of the chamber, Crown Prince Adrian stood beside Elysia, their hands clasped as a priest murmured blessings over them.

Seraphina stood a few steps behind, veiled and silent. The sunlight from the stained-glass windows painted shifting colors over her pale gown, but she felt none of it. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the mark on her palm tingling like a warning.

The doors opened with a heavy groan.

A figure entered, tall, cloaked in black, the seal of the Church embroidered in white over his chest. His presence pulled the air taut. Every murmur died.

The man’s face was long and angular, his eyes pale gray beneath a hood that cast deep shadows. His steps echoed softly as he approached the dais, bowing with mechanical grace.

“Your Highness,” he said. His voice was even, smooth as polished glass. “I am Inquisitor Lucien Vale. His Holiness sends his blessings for your upcoming union, and his concern for the recent disturbances reported near the capital.”

Adrian straightened, offering a courteous smile. “We are honored, Inquisitor. The city’s safety is always our highest priority.”

Lucien’s gaze flicked across the room, and for a moment, it lingered on Seraphina. Her breath caught.

He looked at her the way a surgeon looks at a wound. Calm. Curious. Certain he could find what lay beneath the surface.

Elysia smiled sweetly. “Disturbances? Surely you don’t mean to worry my sister’s engagement party guests.”

Lucien inclined his head. “Of course not, Lady Elysia. Yet the Church received reports of divine interference last night. A manifestation of unnatural frost. We take such signs seriously.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps a local storm?”

Lucien’s lips curved faintly, a ghost of amusement. “Perhaps. Still, we have found that most storms have a source.”

The silence stretched.

Seraphina kept her head bowed, her gloved hand pressed lightly to her skirt. Beneath the fabric, her mark pulsed once.

The Inquisitor’s gaze brushed past her, unhurried but deliberate, before returning to Adrian. “With your permission, I will remain at the palace until the investigation concludes.”

Adrian nodded. “You may have whatever assistance you need.”

Lucien smiled slightly, as if that had been the answer he expected. “May the Light bless your household, Your Highness.”

He bowed again and withdrew to the side, his steps unhurried. When he passed Seraphina, the air around her dropped several degrees. Frost whispered faintly across the floor at the hem of her gown.

She forced her hand still. The mark burned under her glove, demanding release.

Lucien paused beside her. He leaned slightly closer, his words too quiet for anyone else to hear. “The gods remember their vessels, Lady Seraphina. Do you remember yours?”

Her breath caught. She looked up, but his expression was polite, unreadable, as though he had said nothing at all.

He moved on, taking a seat beside the priests.

Elysia squeezed Adrian’s arm and smiled, basking in the attention. Seraphina barely heard the rest of the ceremony. The world around her had gone cold again.

When the audience ended, the nobles dispersed in murmurs. Seraphina turned to leave, but a familiar voice stopped her.

“Lady Seraphina.”

Elias stood near the doorway, holding a sheaf of scrolls. His eyes flicked briefly toward Lucien before meeting hers. “You should come with me.”

She followed him through a side corridor that led toward the archives. The walls there were quieter, the air thick with the scent of parchment and dust.

“What does he know?” she asked the moment they were alone.

Elias walked slowly, his tone even. “Enough to be dangerous. The Inquisition’s records are thorough. They will connect the frost to you if they look closely.”

“Then we hide it.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think that easy? They carry relics meant to reveal corruption. If he brings one near you…”

She stopped. “Then I will not let him.”

Her certainty startled even her.

Elias studied her closely, his voice low. “You are changing. You speak as though you have already accepted what you are.”

Seraphina looked down at her gloved hand. The mark glimmered faintly beneath the fabric. “Perhaps I have.”

They entered the lower archives. The torches burned low, shadows stretching long between shelves. Elias set the scrolls down on a desk and leaned forward.

“I found something about Equinox,” he said quietly. “The cult was destroyed for granting power beyond the Church’s control. They called it judgment without prayer.”

“Judgment.” She repeated the word softly.

He nodded. “It was said that her chosen could weigh truth and lies, faith and deceit, by touch alone. They could see sin written in the soul. The Church called it blasphemy.”

Her heart beat faster. She remembered the night of the banquet, when she had seen the dark threads of energy around Elysia’s hands. “I saw it,” she whispered. “The poison. I could see it before it touched the cup.”

Elias’s eyes darkened with understanding. “Then the mark has awakened fully.”

He stepped closer, voice softer now. “You need to be careful. Lucien Vale is not like the priests you’ve met. He’s a collector. He studies those he condemns before he burns them.”

Seraphina’s lips curved faintly. “Then let him study me. He won’t find what he expects.”

“You are underestimating him.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “or perhaps I am simply tired of being afraid.”

The quiet stretched between them. The flicker of torchlight caught the edges of her silver hair, glinting like water under moonlight.

Elias exhaled, shaking his head. “You really are something dangerous.”

She gave him a small, sharp smile. “You’re still here.”

“Curiosity is a flaw of mine,” he said.

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t kill you.”

He returned her smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Outside, bells rang again, softer this time, signaling the end of the morning audience.

Seraphina looked toward the door. “I should return before someone notices.”

Elias gathered his scrolls. “Be careful. He will watch you.”

“I know.”

She turned to leave, her steps light, her pulse steady.

When she reached the end of the corridor, she felt it again, the cold presence behind her. She looked back, half expecting to see Elias, but the hall was empty. Only a faint shimmer of frost marked the stones where she had walked.

The Inquisitor’s voice echoed in her mind. Do you remember yours?

She drew her cloak tighter and kept walking.

Back in her chambers, a sealed letter awaited her on the table. No crest. No name. Only a small, carved scale pressed into the wax.

She broke it open. Inside, written in neat, unfamiliar script:

He sees you. Do not trust the crown.

Seraphina read it twice before folding it closed.

Outside her window, the bells had stopped. The world was silent again, waiting.

She looked at her reflection in the glass, pale, calm, eyes steady.

“If he wants a storm,” she whispered, “I’ll give him one.”

The mark on her palm flared faintly in answer, its light soft and cold as the moon.