Chapter 9: The Sky on Fire
651 Words
The night air screamed past Seraphina’s ears as they thundered toward the Blaise Estate. She rode pillion behind Valerius, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, feeling the rhythmic, Dominant power of his movement as he urged his black stallion to its absolute limit. Behind them, fifty of the Duke’s elite riders followed like a dark tide, their armor clinking like a funeral dirge.
As they crested the final hill, Seraphina’s heart shattered. The horizon wasn't dark anymore; it was a sickly, pulsating orange. The Blaise manor—her childhood home, the place where she had once played as a "plain" and innocent girl—was silhouetted against a curtain of flame.
"No," she breathed, her Stubborn resolve momentarily buckling under the weight of the Tragedy. "Father... Alaric, you coward!"
"Don't look away," Valerius commanded, his voice cutting through the wind. He didn't slow down. "If you want your Revenge, Seraphina, you have to look at the cost of it. This is what Alaric does when he’s backed into a corner."
They tore through the estate gates, passing the scorched remains of the gardens. The Iron Guard—Alaric’s personal thugs—were busy tossing torches into the library windows, their laughter ringing out over the roar of the fire. They weren't just searching for her; they were erasing her history.
Valerius leapt from the horse before it had even fully stopped, his sword drawn in a flash of silver. He moved with a Cruel efficiency that made the Iron Guard freeze in their tracks.
"Duke Valerius?" one of the guards stammered, raising a torch. "This is a Royal sanction! You have no right—"
He never finished his sentence. Valerius moved faster than the eye could follow, the Mystery of his combat prowess proving why he was the most feared man in the Empire. With a single, Dominant sweep, the guard was disarmed and pinned to the burning wood of the carriage house.
"I am the right," Valerius growled.
Seraphina didn't wait for the Duke to clear a path. She grabbed a discarded sword from the dirt, the heavy weight of it familiar from the training she had secretly done in the shadows of her first life. She was a Kickass Heroine now, and she wasn't going to hide behind a man while her father was in danger.
She ran toward the main entrance, dodging a falling beam of charred timber. "Father! Father, where are you?"
She found him in the study, slumped over his desk, clutching the family seal. He was alive, but the smoke was thick, and he was gasping for air. Behind him, a tall, Arrogant figure stood in the shadows—Prince Alaric himself, holding a lit match.
"There she is," Alaric sneered, his handsome face twisted into something ugly and Irritable. "The 'Genius' who thought she could rob the Treasury and run to a Cursed Duke. You ruined everything, Seraphina. If I can't have the Blaise fortune, no one will."
He dropped the match onto the piles of ancient scrolls.
"You're a pathetic boy, Alaric," Seraphina said, her voice dropping to a Cold, terrifying whisper. She didn't charge him; she simply stood her ground, her Scheming mind already noticing the unstable chandelier hanging directly above the Prince’s head. "You think fire makes you strong? Fire just reveals what's already hollow."
She threw the sword—not at him, but at the frayed rope holding the heavy iron light fixture.
As the chandelier plummeted, Seraphina lunged forward, grabbing her father and hauling him toward the secret passage behind the bookshelf. Behind them, she heard Alaric’s scream of shock and the crash of metal. She didn't look back to see if he was dead. She had a more Serious plan for his ending than a quick death in a fire.
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