The explosion was controlled—but terrifying.
Thick smoke billowed from the shattered vial, clinging to skin like oil, blinding eyes and choking lungs. Screams rose, sharp and sudden, as members of the Hollow Flame stumbled in confusion. A few reached for weapons, others fumbled for their torches.
But Rose was already moving.
Kyle pulled her through the chaos, their steps practiced, silent, weaving through bodies and pillars and shadows like dancers on a death stage. The trap had been expected—and so had their escape route.
They vanished through the broken arch of the chapel's collapsed side wall.
Behind them, fire licked at the stained-glass windows, the golden flame symbol now melting beneath real heat.
Rose didn't look back.
Not yet.
---
They emerged into the west courtyard, breathless, soaked in smoke. Kyle slammed the hidden gate shut behind them.
"You sure you don't kneel?" he said, coughing through a grin.
Rose smirked. "Only when I'm tying my boots."
But the humor faded quickly.
Because she had seen something in the smoke.
A face.
Her mother's.
Not Queen Mariam—not the cruel mask that ruled the throne—but the woman who had once held her as a child. A flicker of the past.
And in that flicker, Rose had seen fear.
Her mother knew what the Hollow Flame had become. And perhaps—what it always had been.
---
By dawn, the palace was a hornet's nest.
Servants whispered of sabotage, of fire in the sacred west chapel, of blasphemy. The King had not spoken. The Queen had not slept. And Prince Christopher had vanished.
Rose sat in the Ash Circle's chamber, her fingers steepled beneath her chin.
"Someone warned them," Kyle said. "They were too ready. Too organized."
Maela poured wine with a trembling hand. "You think there's a leak in our circle?"
"I think there's always a leak," Rose muttered. "We just haven't found it yet."
The tutor—Erem—cleared his throat. "There's… something you should see."
He unrolled a parchment across the table.
A map.
One even older than the one Rose had found before.
It showed not just the palace tunnels, but the catacombs beneath the old chapel.
And at the center: The Ember Vault.
"What is it?" Kyle asked.
"A reliquary," Erem said. "A vault sealed during the war of succession. Only accessible with the royal bloodline."
Rose's heart skipped. "What's inside?"
Erem looked grim. "Records. Names. Symbols. Every founding member of the Hollow Flame. And their oaths."
Rose leaned forward. "If we find that vault—"
"We burn them from the inside out," Kyle finished.
But Maela shook her head. "It's not that simple. You'd need the King's seal. Or…" She hesitated.
"Or?" Rose pressed.
"Or his blood."
---
Meanwhile, far beneath the palace, Christopher stood before Darius in a chamber lit by braziers and bitterness. The prince's eyes were bloodshot, his cloak torn.
"They attacked the Hollow Flame."
Darius didn't flinch. "Good. Let them fear."
Christopher grabbed his arm. "I didn't want this. I came to stop my mother. Not start another war!"
Darius met his gaze, calm as a blade. "Then choose your side. Because Rose already has."
Christopher faltered. "What do you mean?"
"She's no longer a pawn," Darius said. "She's a queen without a crown. And she just lit the match."
---
That night, Rose stood in the King's gallery, where paintings of long-dead monarchs loomed with accusing eyes. She waited until the chamber was empty—until her footsteps echoed alone.
Then, slowly, she approached the old throne.
She reached beneath the seat, to the hidden compartment she remembered from her childhood.
A vial. Sealed with wax.
Blood.
The King's.
She smiled.
"I don't need your permission, Father," she whispered. "Just your legacy."