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The silver blade caught the candlelight. Long, thin, with a hooked tip. The kind of thing you don't use unless you want it to hurt.
The blood examiner didn't look at me. He was old, older than Edwin maybe, with hands that shook just enough to make the blade wobble. Seraphine stood behind him like she was directing a play. Her smile hadn't moved since she walked in.
"Second test," she said. "Crown Prince's orders. We need to be certain the child is... viable."
Edwin stepped between me and the examiner. "She already passed the first test. The bloodstone confirmed—"
"Bloodstones can be fooled." Seraphine's voice stayed light. Pleasant, even. "Diluted blood. Human tricks. I'm sure you've seen it, Dr. Grey. In your long career."
The threat sat there between them. Edwin's jaw worked. He knew what she meant. He'd been around for the massacre. She was reminding him.
I pressed my back against the wall. My hand went to my stomach without thinking. The baby wasn't showing yet, not really, but I could feel the difference. The weight. The constant low hum of something else living inside me.
"What's the blade for?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
The examiner finally looked up. His eyes were pale, washed out. "Royal lineage test requires fresh blood. Straight from the vein. No time for oxidation to corrupt the sample."
"Oxidation." I almost laughed. "You mean you want to cut me open and see what comes out."
"Only a small incision." He set the blade down on the table next to the bloodstone. This one was bigger than the first. Darker. It looked like a chunk of volcanic glass, all sharp edges. "The stone will react immediately if the child carries Thorne blood. If not..."
He didn't finish. Seraphine finished for him.
"If not, the contract is void. You'll be removed from the palace by morning."
Removed. Right. Like I was a stain on the carpet.
Edwin started to argue again but I cut him off. "Fine. Do it."
His head snapped toward me. "Iris—"
"I said do it." I moved away from the wall and sat down in the chair next to the table. Held out my arm. "Let's get this over with."
Seraphine's smile widened. Just a fraction. But I saw it.
The examiner picked up the blade. He was muttering something under his breath, some kind of formal procedure probably, but I wasn't listening. I was watching Seraphine. The way she tilted her head. The way her fingers drummed once against her thigh, like she was keeping time to a song only she could hear.
She wanted this to fail. Wanted me gone. And if the test came back wrong, she'd have legal grounds to throw me out. Or worse.
The blade touched my skin.
Cold. Sharp. It didn't hurt at first, just pressure, and then the sting came all at once. Blood welled up, dark red, and the examiner caught it in a small glass vial. Three drops. Four. He stoppered the vial and held it over the black stone.
"By the old law and the blood compact, let the truth be known."
He tipped the vial. The blood hit the stone.
Nothing happened.
Seraphine leaned forward.
Edwin went very still.
I stopped breathing.
And then the stone started to smoke.
Not glow. Smoke. Thin grey tendrils curling up from where the blood touched it. The examiner jerked back, almost dropping the vial.
"What—" His voice cracked. "That's not—"
The smoke thickened. It smelled wrong. Bitter. Like burning hair.
Seraphine's smile finally dropped. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know." The examiner was staring at the stone like it had just insulted him. "I've never seen a reaction like this. Royal blood should make it glow. Human blood should do nothing. But this—"
The door slammed open.
Dorian.
He looked like he'd run here. His jacket was unbuttoned, his hair messed up on one side. His eyes went straight to my arm, to the blood still dripping from the cut.
"What the hell is this?"
His voice came out low. Dangerous. The kind of tone that made the examiner take a step back.
Seraphine recovered fast. She straightened, smoothed her dress. "You ordered a second test. I brought the examiner. We're simply following protocol."
"I ordered a review of the first results. Not a blood draw." Dorian crossed the room in three strides. He grabbed my arm, not rough but firm, and looked at the cut. "Who authorized this?"
No one answered.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. His hands were cold. They were always cold. But his grip was careful. Controlled.
"Edwin. Seal the wound."
Edwin moved immediately. He pulled a small tin from his coat and dabbed something that stung like hell onto my arm. The bleeding stopped. The cut started to close, skin knitting back together in a way that definitely wasn't human.
Dorian didn't let go of my arm.
He turned to the examiner. "What's the result?"
The examiner opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at the smoking stone.
"I... I need to consult the records. This reaction is highly unusual. It could indicate—"
"Yes or no. Is the child mine?"
Silence.
Then the examiner nodded. Barely. "The blood carries royal markers. But there's something else. Something I can't identify. The smoke suggests a secondary lineage. A strong one."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "Secondary lineage? She's human."
"The test says otherwise."
Dorian's hand tightened on my arm. Just slightly. I felt his thumb press against my pulse.
"Then the child is confirmed Thorne. The contract stands." He looked at Seraphine. "You have your answer. Leave."
"But—"
"Now."
Seraphine's face went blank. Smooth. She dipped her head, the perfect picture of obedience, and turned toward the door. The examiner scrambled to pack up his case, shoving the vial and stone back into the leather bag.
But as Seraphine passed my chair, she leaned down. Just for a second. Her lips almost touched my ear.
"That baby won't last," she whispered.
Then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her.
Dorian was still holding my arm. He was staring at the handkerchief, at the faint red stain seeping through the white fabric.
"Did she hurt you?" His voice was quieter now. Almost normal.
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't what I asked."
I pulled my arm back. He let me. I stood up, putting distance between us, and wrapped my arms around my stomach.
"Why did you come?" I asked.
"I heard Seraphine ordered an examiner to your wing. Without clearance." He adjusted his jacket, buttoning it back up. The cold, distant mask was sliding back into place. "The contract stipulates that all medical procedures require my approval. She violated terms."
Of course. Contract terms. Not because he was worried. Not because he cared.
"Right," I said. "Wouldn't want anyone breaking the rules."
Something flickered across his face. I couldn't read it.
Edwin cleared his throat. "Your Highness, about the test result. The secondary lineage—"
"We'll discuss it later." Dorian's eyes stayed on me. "Iris needs to rest."
"I don't need to rest. I need answers." I pointed at the table, at the bloodstone still sitting there, smoke curling off it like a dying fire. "What does that mean? Secondary lineage? What did it find?"
Dorian walked over to the table. He looked at the stone for a long moment. Then he picked up the vial, the one with my blood still inside.
He held it up to the light. The blood had separated. Two layers. Dark red on the bottom. Something paler, almost silver, floating on top.
"Edwin," he said quietly. "Burn the sample. All of it. The stone too."
Edwin hesitated. "My lord—"
"Burn it. Now."
Edwin nodded. He took the vial from Dorian and moved to the fireplace. He threw the whole thing in, glass and all. It cracked in the heat, spilling the blood onto the coals.
And there, just for a second before the flames ate it, I saw something in the ash.
A shape. A mark. Burned into the residue like a brand.
It looked like a seal. Old. Royal.
The same seal from the painting in the archive. The one I'd been restoring the night this all started.
The seal of the king who'd ordered the Wren massacre.