Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~10 min read
Ember’s “cell” was nicer than her bedroom at home had been.
She stood in the center of the room, chains finally removed, and tried to process what she was seeing. A massive bed with silk sheets the color of flames. Plush carpets that felt soft even through her worn shoes. A bathing chamber visible through an archway, complete with a pool that steamed invitingly.
Windows that overlooked a landscape of volcanic mountains and rivers of lava.
And a door that, when she’d tested it, was locked from the outside.
So. A beautiful cage.
Ember wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop shaking. The throne room had been terrifying—all those fae watching her with hungry eyes, the suffocating heat, and Prince Blaze’s cold dismissal.
I hope you survive longer than the last one.
The last one. There had been others before her. Of course there had been.
She’d stopped asking what happened to them.
A soft knock made her spin toward the door. It opened before she could respond, and a woman entered carrying a tray of food.
Not fae. Human.
Ember’s breath caught. The woman was older, maybe forty, with dark hair streaked with gray and kind eyes. She wore simple servant’s clothing, but she moved freely. No chains. No collar.
“Easy,” the woman said softly, setting the tray on a low table. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“You’re human.” Ember’s voice came out hoarse.
“I am.” The woman straightened, studying Ember with something that looked like sympathy. “My name is Lark. I’ve been in the Fire Court for… a while now.”
“How long is ‘a while’?”
“Five years.”
Five years. This woman had survived five years in the Fire Court. In the Ember Prince’s service.
How?
“I brought you dinner,” Lark continued, gesturing to the tray. “You should eat. The heat here takes getting used to, and you’ll need your strength.”
Ember looked at the food. Roasted meat, fresh bread, fruit that gleamed like jewels. Her stomach growled despite her fear.
“Is it poisoned?”
Lark’s expression flickered with something—amusement? Sadness? “If the prince wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. He doesn’t need poison.”
Fair point.
Ember approached the tray cautiously, her mind racing. This woman had survived five years. She might have information. Insights.
A way out?
“The last mortal he brought here,” Ember said carefully, watching Lark’s reaction. “What happened to them?”
Lark busied herself with arranging the tray, not meeting Ember’s eyes. “That’s not my story to tell.”
“So they’re dead.”
“I didn’t say that.”
But she didn’t deny it either.
Ember sat down slowly, her legs still unsteady. She picked up a piece of bread, more for something to do with her hands than from actual hunger.
“What does he want from me?” The question came out smaller than she’d intended. “The prince. What… what does he do?”
Lark finally looked at her, and her expression was complicated. “That’s also not my story to tell.”
“You’re not very helpful.”
“I’m alive,” Lark said quietly. “In the Fire Court, serving a fae prince. That should tell you something about how helpful I can afford to be.”
The words landed like stones. Right. This woman had survived by being careful. By keeping secrets.
Ember couldn’t fault her for that.
She bit into the bread. It was warm, fresh, delicious. Her body responded to the food even as her mind churned with fear and questions.
“The prince said he’ll send for you tomorrow,” Lark said after a moment. “He’s… busy tonight.”
Busy. Doing what? Planning how to torture her? Deciding which method of death would be most entertaining?
Ember’s hands shook, and she set the bread down.
“Hey.” Lark’s voice gentled. She moved closer, crouching so they were eye-level. “Listen to me. I know you’re terrified. You should be. But…”
“But what?”
Lark hesitated, clearly weighing her words. “Things here aren’t always what they seem. The Fire Court has… rules. Politics. Everyone wears masks.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Lark stood. “Eat. Rest. And tomorrow, when you see the prince, watch him carefully. Not just what he does. What he doesn’t do.”
Before Ember could ask what that meant, Lark headed for the door.
“Wait!” Ember stood quickly. “Will you… will you come back?”
Lark paused, glancing back. Her expression softened. “I’ll bring you breakfast. Try to sleep, Ember.”
She left, and the lock clicked behind her.
Ember was alone again.
She forced herself to eat more of the food—Lark was right about needing strength. Then she explored the rest of the chamber.
The bathing pool was fed by a hot spring, the water crystalline and inviting. Ember wanted to collapse into it, wash away the fear and grime of the market. But she also didn’t trust it.
Paranoid, she told herself. You’re being paranoid.
But paranoia kept people alive.
She settled for washing her face and hands in the basin, using the soft cloths stacked nearby. There were clothes in the wardrobe—simple dresses in shades of red and gold. All her size.
Prepared in advance. He’d planned this. Planned buying her.
The thought made her skin crawl.
Finally, exhausted beyond measure, Ember approached the bed. The silk sheets whispered under her touch, impossibly soft. The mattress looked like a cloud.
She didn’t deserve this comfort. Not when she was a prisoner. Not when she was probably going to die.
But her body didn’t care what she deserved. Her body was bone-tired and terrified and desperate for oblivion.
Ember climbed into the bed, still wearing her clothes from the market. She pulled the covers up to her chin.
And then, finally alone, she let herself cry.
Silent tears that she’d been holding back since the moment the collectors dragged her from her home. Since her father’s betrayal became real. Since she’d stood on that auction block and watched her freedom sold.
Since a fae prince with eyes of fire had looked at her like she was nothing.
She cried until she had no tears left. Until exhaustion pulled her under like a riptide.
And she dreamed of fire.
Ember woke to sunlight.
Not regular sunlight. This light was orange-red, filtered through the volcanic haze outside her window. It painted everything in shades of flame.
She sat up slowly, disoriented. For one blissful moment, she didn’t remember where she was.
Then it all came crashing back.
The market. The auction. Prince Blaze Emberclaw.
The Fire Court.
Ember pressed her hands to her face, breathing slowly. She’d survived the night. That was something.
A knock sounded at the door.
“It’s Lark,” the woman’s voice called. “I brought breakfast.”
Ember scrambled out of bed, smoothing her wrinkled dress. “Come in.”
Lark entered with another tray, this one laden with fresh fruit, pastries, and something that smelled like coffee. Real coffee, not the cheap substitute Ember’s family had survived on.
“You slept,” Lark observed, setting the tray down.
“Eventually.”
“That’s good. You’ll need it.” Lark paused. “The prince wants to see you. After you eat.”
Ember’s stomach dropped. “Now?”
“Within the hour. There’s time to bathe if you want.”
She should want to. She should want to wash away the grime of travel, put on fresh clothes, face the fae prince with as much dignity as she could muster.
But she also wanted to run. To hide. To wake up from this nightmare.
“Ember.” Lark’s voice was gentle but firm. “I know this is terrifying. But the prince… he’s not going to hurt you. Not today.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I know him.” Lark met her eyes. “Better than most. And I’m telling you—watch what he doesn’t do. Listen to what he doesn’t say.”
The same cryptic advice from last night.
“I don’t understand riddles,” Ember said, frustrated. “If you know something, just tell me.”
“I can’t.” Lark’s expression was pained. “I wish I could. But it’s not safe. Not yet. You have to see for yourself.”
“See what?”
“The truth.” Lark moved toward the door. “Bathe. Dress. Eat. The guards will come for you soon.”
She left before Ember could ask more questions.
Ember stared at the closed door, her mind spinning. What truth? What was Lark talking about?
Things aren’t always what they seem. Everyone wears masks.
Watch what he doesn’t do.
What did that mean?
Finally, Ember gave up trying to solve the puzzle and focused on the immediate problem: she was about to face the Ember Prince. She needed to be ready.
She bathed quickly in the hot spring pool, washing away the market’s grime. The water felt incredible against her skin, soothing muscles she hadn’t realized were knotted with tension.
She dressed in one of the provided gowns—a simple shift in deep crimson. It fit perfectly, which was unnerving.
She braided her damp hair, trying to tame the red curls into something presentable.
She forced herself to eat a few bites of breakfast, though her stomach was churning.
And then the knock came.
“Miss Quinn.” A guard’s voice. “The prince will see you now.”
Ember took a deep breath. Then another.
She thought of her father, who’d run when things got hard. Who’d left her to face this alone.
She wouldn’t run. She couldn’t.
So she’d face it. Whatever came next, she’d face it.
She opened the door.
Two Fire Court guards waited outside—tall fae with flame dancing in their eyes. They didn’t chain her this time, which was something. They simply gestured for her to follow.
Ember walked between them through corridors of black glass and flowing lava. Other fae watched as she passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to cruel amusement.
Let them look. She held her head high.
Finally, the guards stopped at a door carved with symbols she didn’t recognize. One knocked twice.
“Enter,” came a voice from within.
Prince Blaze’s voice.
The guards opened the door and gestured her inside.
Ember stepped into what appeared to be a study. Shelves lined with books—hundreds of books. A desk covered in papers and maps. Windows overlooking the volcanic landscape.
And standing by the window, backlit by the red sunlight, was the Ember Prince.
He looked different without an audience. Less performative. His expression was unreadable as he turned to face her.
“Miss Quinn,” he said quietly. “Please, sit.”
It wasn’t a request.
Ember sat in the chair across from his desk, hands folded in her lap to hide their trembling.
Prince Blaze moved to his own chair, studying her across the desk. Those fire-bright eyes catalogued everything—her still-damp hair, the dress she wore, the way she sat with rigid posture.
Looking for weakness? For fear?
He’d find both.
“I imagine you have questions,” he said finally.
Ember’s laugh was bitter. “A few.”
“Such as?”
“Such as why you paid one thousand gold marks for me. Such as what you want. Such as…” She met his eyes, forcing herself not to look away. “Such as how long I have before you kill me.”
Something flickered across his face. Too fast to read.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said.
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“I’m fae,” he pointed out. “I can’t lie.”
“No. But you can twist truth until it’s unrecognizable.” Ember leaned forward slightly. “So let me ask a better question: Do you plan to cause my death, directly or indirectly, through action or inaction?”
His eyebrows rose. “You know fae customs.”
“I read.” She’d spent her whole life reading. Books had been her escape, her education, her armor.
“Clearly.” He was quiet for a moment. Then: “No. I do not plan to cause your death. In fact, I plan quite the opposite.”
“And what’s that?”
Prince Blaze Emberclaw, heir to the Fire Court throne, the most feared fae in all the courts, leaned back in his chair.
And said the last thing Ember expected:
“I plan to set you free.”
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