The palace was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet — the before-the-storm quiet. The kind where servants vanished, nobles whispered behind closed doors, and even the curtains seemed to hold their breath.
Arwen sat at her desk, staring at a map she wasn't reading. The Trial scroll still lay nearby, burned around the edges where my spark had accidentally flared.
Again.
I paced the windowsill, feathers twitching. My spark was still buzzing, like it hadn't calmed down since the Trial. Everything felt… charged. Like if I sneezed, I might bring down the ceiling.
"You're restless," Arwen said without looking up.
"I'm glowing," I chirped.
"You're not supposed to be glowing."
"I know."
She finally looked up. Her eyes were tired — not the good tired from scheming, but the kind from not sleeping at all.
"They sent another letter," she said.
I froze.
"Binder's Assembly?"
"No." She held up the scroll. "My fiancé."
Right. The forgotten fiancé. Darian Velthorn. Prince of Something, Lord of Inconvenience. He'd vanished after Chapter 4. I'd hoped he'd stay gone.
"He wants to meet," Arwen said flatly.
"Romantic?" I chirped.
She raised an eyebrow. "Diplomatic. He's afraid."
I fluffed. "Good."
Arwen smiled faintly. "You're jealous."
"What? No. I'm just… possessively concerned."
She stood, cloak swishing. "Come on. If we're going to make enemies uncomfortable, you're coming."
I hopped onto her shoulder. "I'm very good at being unsettling."
---
We met Lord Darian in a garden pavilion. He wore too much silk and smiled like someone trying not to panic.
"Arwen," he said smoothly. "You're looking… intense."
"I'm always intense," she replied.
His eyes flicked to me. "And that's the beast."
I flared my feathers. "I have a name! …pending."
Darian chuckled nervously. "He's… energetic."
"Enchanted," Arwen corrected. "And not yours."
She stepped closer. Darian flinched.
"I burned your engagement contract," she said. "In case the message wasn't clear."
"You can't—"
"I can."
She turned, striding away.
I waved. "Bye forever!"
Darian didn't follow.
---
Back in the tower, Arwen collapsed into her chair.
"You're glowing again," she murmured.
"I feel weird."
Her eyes softened. "Your spark's changing."
I chirped. "Will you still keep me if I'm… different?"
She didn't answer.
She just held me.
And the spark pulsed warm — not wild. Not scared.
Just close.
---
Later that night, the spark trouble began.
It started small — my feathers crackled when I walked. Static shocks. Floating biscuits. Then a tapestry burst into flame when I sneezed near it.
I chirped, horrified, and flapped in frantic circles.
Arwen sprinted in with a blanket, smothered the fire, and turned to me with wide eyes.
"What did you do?"
"Sneeze!" I squeaked.
She examined me — not with anger, but worry. "Your spark's… unstable."
I glowed involuntarily.
We stared at each other.
"I'm grounded," I chirped.
"Agreed."
---
By morning, the palace was in a mild state of panic.
Magical wards flickered. The chandelier tried to sing. Someone's breakfast attacked them.
The official report blamed "ambient spark interference." Everyone blamed me.
"They think you're cursed," Arwen said over tea.
"I'm just anxious!"
"Your spark is reacting to emotions."
I froze. "Yours or mine?"
She didn't answer.
I looked at her — really looked.
Eyes red-rimmed. Shoulders tense. A crack in the cold mask she wore for everyone else.
"You haven't slept," I chirped.
"I don't need—"
"Liar."
She exhaled, defeated.
"They're calling me unfit," she said. "After the Trial. After burning the collar. They're preparing to invoke bond reassignment by imperial order."
I hissed.
"They can't."
"They'll try."
Her hands trembled. I pressed my head into her palm.
"Let me bite someone."
She laughed — a real laugh, tired but true.
---
A knock interrupted us.
A servant, pale and sweating, held out a scroll.
"From the Empress."
Arwen read it silently.
Then again.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What?" I chirped.
"She's summoning us."
"Another Trial?"
"No," Arwen said. "A gathering of the Covenant Council."
I blinked.
"That's worse."
She nodded grimly.
"They want to decide — publicly — if we're a threat."
---
I paced while Arwen packed.
"You're glowing more," she noted.
"I feel like a biscuit left in the sun."
"Control it."
"I'm trying!"
She stopped, stepped close, and placed her hand over my spark.
Warm. Steady.
"You're not a threat," she whispered. "You're mine."
The spark stabilized.
For a moment.
Then a vase exploded.
We both sighed.
---
The Covenant Council chamber wasn't built for comfort — it was built for judgment.
Tall arches. Cold marble. Chairs arranged in a semicircle like a pack of wolves waiting for prey. At the center: a lone podium glowing with rune-light.
Arwen stood before it. I perched on her shoulder, tail twitching.
The Council members stared. Nobles. Scholars. Binder officials. Even Empress Lysandra, seated at the highest tier, impassive.
A Binder representative spoke first.
"Princess Arwen Nightveil, you are summoned to answer charges of bond misconduct, magical destabilization, and endangerment of imperial order."
Arwen didn't flinch. "I declined to name my soulbeast. That is not misconduct."
"You burned a royal collar."
"I did."
"You defied imperial Registry law."
Arwen smiled thinly. "I'm aware."
Gasps. Whispering.
I chirped loudly. "She's very honest."
A noble pointed. "The beast is glowing again."
Indeed, I was — soft golden light pulsing beneath my feathers.
The Binder frowned. "His spark has become volatile. Is he even sentient?"
"Extremely," I snapped.
Laughter rippled — uneasy.
Arwen's voice cut through. "His spark is awakening. He's not dangerous."
"Yet," someone muttered.
Another Binder rose. "We have evidence of unsanctioned spark flares, magical anomalies, and the destruction of four palace objects."
"Five," I corrected. "The soup exploded."
More gasps.
Arwen stepped forward. "He's evolving, not malfunctioning. You fear what you don't control."
The Empress finally spoke.
"Control exists for a reason."
Arwen looked up at her. "So does freedom."
Silence.
A rune flared beneath me — containment magic. My spark reacted badly.
I shrieked. Light burst outward. Runes cracked. The air hummed with unleashed energy.
Arwen caught me, holding tight.
"He's scared," she said. "Not hostile."
"He is unstable," the Binder snapped. "We demand immediate containment or forced registration."
The Empress raised a hand.
"All options… remain open."
I trembled in Arwen's arms.
This wasn't a council.
It was a hunt.
And we were the prey.
---
The containment rune beneath me kept glowing — not gold, not violet, but a sickly grey. The kind of color that meant restraints. Not just physical.
They wanted to bind my spark.
Arwen stood frozen, her hand tight around me, as if letting go would make it true.
The Chancellor of Bonds stepped forward. "We invoke emergency spark protocol. For his safety—and the Empire's stability."
Arwen's voice turned to frost. "You mean to collar him. Against his will."
"For the good of all."
"No," she said. "For the good of control."
The Empress's gaze flicked to the Binder. "Proceed."
Arwen didn't wait.
She stepped into the rune circle — and smashed it.
Magic cracked like thunder. The containment shattered, sparks flying. Nobles screamed. The Binder stumbled back.
Arwen held me close. "No one binds him. Ever."
The Empress rose slowly. "You would defy imperial order?"
"For him? Always."
My spark pulsed — not wildly, but clearly, as if her words calmed something deep inside.
For the first time… I chose to flare.
Not by panic.
By will.
Golden light burst from my feathers. The ground trembled. Magic coiled around Arwen and me like fire shaped into memory.
Gasps. One noble fainted. Again.
"He's stabilizing," someone whispered.
"He's… choosing her."
The Empress said nothing.
The Binder tried again. "Contain him now—"
"No," I said.
The chamber froze.
I had spoken.
Arwen stared at me. "You—"
"Still me," I chirped softly. "Just… more me."
The room spun with voices.
He spoke.
The spark is sentient.
That's impossible.
The Empress's voice cut through.
"Leave. Both of you. Before I change my mind."
Arwen didn't bow.
She just walked away, head high, arms full of glowing, possibly cursed soulbeast.
---
Back in our tower, we collapsed. Arwen on the couch. Me in her lap.
She laughed — breathless, tired, real.
"You spoke."
"I've been practicing."
She smiled.
We didn't need to run.
Not yet.
But we needed to prepare.
Because the Empire wouldn't let this go.
And neither would I.