Chapter 22: The Storm at Midnight
Thunder rolled low over the distant peaks as night blanketed the imperial city. The storm had been creeping closer all day, but now it loomed directly above the palace, crackling with energy—mirroring the unrest rising in Seraphina's veins.
She stood by the window of her chambers, her reflection faint in the rain-slicked glass. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the garden below where the blood of secrets had been spilled centuries ago. She could feel it, the dormant energy whispering to her through the soil. Magic, like her own, buried beneath generations of lies.
"My lady," Mirelle whispered behind her, voice tight. "He's waiting in the Hall of Judgment. Just as you commanded."
Seraphina didn't respond immediately. Her fingers brushed the edge of the windowsill, cold and marble smooth. In her past life, she had walked that same hall in chains. This time, she would not kneel.
She turned, her crimson gown sweeping across the floor, embroidered thorns glittering like dried blood. "Good."
Mirelle hesitated, lowering her eyes. "The others... the Council is uneasy. Summoning Lord Caelum in front of them so suddenly—some fear this could spark another rebellion."
"Then let them be afraid," Seraphina said quietly. "I would rather rule through fear than silence."
She descended the steps slowly, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat. The palace was different at night—quieter, darker, and more honest. She passed statues of former emperors and empresses, their eyes hollow, their power long buried. One day, her likeness would join theirs.
But not yet.
The doors to the Hall of Judgment opened with a groan of steel and ancient wood. Inside, nobles sat stiffly in shadowed rows, whispers silenced as she entered. At the center of the room stood Lord Caelum Virelle, his expression unreadable.
He was handsome still—older, but with that same air of calculated charm that once made her trust him. In her first life, he had been her greatest supporter. Her "uncle by alliance." And in the end, her betrayer.
"Your Majesty," he said with a bow, too perfect. "You summoned me?"
She took her throne slowly, the cold gold pressing into her spine. "I did. You have questions to answer."
He smiled faintly. "Have I committed a crime?"
"You tell me," she said. "Five years ago, you stood at the edge of my execution. I remember the rings on your fingers, and how not a single one trembled."
The nobles gasped.
Lord Caelum didn't move. "I was loyal to the throne. And the throne deemed you guilty."
"The throne was a puppet," she snapped. "And you were its strings."
The storm above cracked like a whip. Wind howled through the open arches as her power swirled in the air, tugging at candles and hair and nerves. The spirals of flame along her sleeve flickered to life, golden-red and furious.
"You betrayed your Empress," she said, her voice like cold steel. "And now that Empress has returned."
Silence.
Then Lord Caelum laughed softly. "You are bold, Seraphina. Just like your mother. But do not forget—boldness without caution gets queens killed."
Her eyes narrowed. "So does underestimating a phoenix."
He stiffened.
"I'm giving you one chance, Caelum," she continued, rising to her feet. "One night to confess what you did. One night to tell the truth behind the rebellion. If you don't, I will rip it from your soul."
"And if I leave?"
"You won't," she said simply. "Because if you try, the storm outside will seem merciful compared to what follows."
Another boom of thunder. This time, it shook the chandeliers.
Lord Caelum's face twisted, just slightly—enough for her to see the fear crack beneath the calm. He bowed again, slower.
"As you command, Your Majesty."
When he left, Seraphina turned to the Council. "The past has not been buried. Not yet. And I intend to dig it up myself."
Outside, the storm finally broke.
But it wasn't rain that fell.
It was ash.