Semua Bab The Phoenix Bride Rises: Trust Was Her First Mistake : Bab 91 - Bab 100

The firelight danced across the ornate frame in Miguel’s hand, casting golden flickers over the delicate image it held. A photograph, aged, delicate, and creased at the edges. It had been taken in the rose gardens of Vespas a little over two decades ago. Diamante stood barefoot on dew-kissed grass, holding a book to her chest, her expression somewhere between laughter and defiance. Her hair was wild with wind, her eyes bright with mischief, and her smile... He swallowed hard. That smile had undone kingdoms.Miguel sat alone in his private chamber, the wine untouched beside him. The royal court had gone quiet for the night, but his mind refused to rest. Aretha’s voice still rang in his ears. Her perfectly timed sighs, her overly humble curtsy, her generic memories crafted from stories fed to her by someone else."She smelled like roses,” she had said.Roses? Any servant could have said that. Half the palace gardens were roses. But Diamante had smelled of something else, amberwood, her

Now fully recovered, the duchess summoned her son to her chambers. A tray of untouched tea rested between mother and son, steam now long dissipated. Duchess Evelyn Fleming leaned forward, her fingers gently rubbing the carved armrest of her chair.The silence between her and Cedric was not heavy, it was contemplative. But Cedric knew his mother never summoned him without reason. She looked older than usual today, though not weak. There was a strength in her bones that had carried her through decades of loss and expectation. Her voice, when it broke the silence, was soft.“Do you know why I hesitated about your marriage, Cedric?” He sat across from her, legs crossed, watching her closely. “You said you'd explain when the time was right. Is that now?” She gave a slow nod. “Yes. It’s time.” Cedric leaned back, arms folded. “Then I’m listening.”Duchess Eloise took a breath, gathering herself. “Over twenty years ago, your father, gods rest his s

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a gentle glow over the family parlor. Tea sat forgotten on the tray beside the sofa. Cedric stood near the fireplace, arms folded but relaxed, watching Arla-Rosa with a look that had not left his face since their earlier conversation, a look of fierce, unguarded joy.Across from him, Arla-Rosa sat in one of the armchairs, her fingers absently tracing the outline of the phoenix on her bracelet. Cassian and Celeste perched on the rug at her feet, their eyes darting between their parents like they were watching history unfold.“So,” Arla-Rosa said slowly, “you’re telling me that I was... promised in a blood vow. To you.” Cedric nodded, his smile crooked. “But I would’ve loved you even without the parchment. The vow only confirms what I already know, that you were always meant to be mine.”She blushed slightly and rolled her eyes, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her affection. “That’s incredibly arrogant.” “And entirely accurate,” he

The scent of spiced parchment and rare sandalwood filled Duke Cedric Fleming’s private study. A long velvet box lay open on his desk, revealing the final gift: a crystalline comb inlaid with frost lotus petals, rumored to only bloom once every seven years in the highest mountain ranges of Country D. Delicate. Priceless. Symbolic.“Will it pass inspection?” Cedric asked without looking up. The envoy bowed low. “Yes, Your Grace. All the gifts are personally inscribed, the letters are sealed with your crest. None will suspect this is anything but a sincere offering.”“Good,” Cedric said, folding the final scroll. “Let them believe it.” The envoy hesitated. “Do you truly wish to congratulate them for finding their... princess?” Cedric’s hand stilled. “It is not congratulations, Lord Vance. It’s bait.”He rose from his chair, his shoulders straightening beneath the weight of his title. The opulent robe he wore shimmered with the subtle threads of his house colors, storm grey and midnight b

Far beyond the tourist coastlines and the soft laughter of children, past cliffs carved by time and oceans made of glass, there lay a veil no map dared to mark. Behind that veil, hidden by blood magic and deathly intent, was the heart of decay.The Guxani Sect, known only in whispers among the forbidden circles of martial arts and insect cultivation, thrived like a nest of locusts deep within the island’s shadowed interior. Their compound resembled an overgrown ruin, stone halls tangled with black vines, bamboo groves corrupted by parasites, air thick with the scent of wormwood and copper.In a subterranean chamber beneath the largest hall, a dim glow from bioluminescent fungi illuminated what little remained of Amarantha Lunaria.She sat slumped against a wall of ancient roots, her hair no longer silver-gold but matted and streaked with red earth. Thin iron cuffs wrapped around her wrists and ankles, etched with the sigils of entrapment. He