Chapter 3 Smoke and Steel*

The roar of the fire behind them was a living beast. Heat pressed against Lucian's back like a physical hand. Smoke coiled thick and grey, stinging his eyes, clawing at his throat. The flickering orange light painted Duke Cassian's face in shifting, monstrous shadows. His false concern felt colder than the rain still blowing through the broken window far behind them.

Lucian didn't move towards his uncle. He stayed planted, his body a solid barrier between Cassian and Seraphina. He felt the slight tremor in her where she pressed against his back, her fingers gripping the damp wool of his uniform jacket. Was it fear of the fire? Or fear of the man smiling at them through the smoke?

"Safety, Uncle?" Lucian repeated, his voice rasping from the smoke but sharp as his dagger. "Or a knife in the back amidst the chaos?"

Cassian's smile faltered for only a fraction of a second, replaced by a look of wounded innocence. "Lucian! My dear boy! What a terrible thing to suggest! The fire... it has you rattled." He took another deliberate step forward. His polished boots crunched on fallen plaster. His hand, previously hovering near his hip, now rested casually on the ornate hilt of his dress sword. It wasn't a battlefield weapon, but it was sharp enough. "Come now. Let's get you both out of here. The King is frantic."

The young guard beside Lucian shifted nervously, coughing. "Your Grace... the fire... it's moving fast down the east corridor too..."

Cassian waved a dismissive hand, his eyes never leaving Lucian's. "Nonsense. The servants' stairs are just here. Clear." He gestured towards the dark opening of the narrow passage behind him. "Quickly, nephew. Before the smoke overwhelms us." His gaze flickered again to Seraphina, lingering on her torn gown, the bruise darkening on her shoulder. A cruel little smile touched his lips. "The Princess looks... distressed. We must get her to safety."

Lucian felt Seraphina flinch. Her grip on his jacket tightened. A low, choked sound escaped her – not a sob, but a stifled gasp for clean air. He could feel the fine tremors running through her. Exhaustion? Terror? Or simply fighting for breath?

He made a decision. Trusting her felt like madness. But standing here arguing while the fire closed in was suicide. And Cassian's insistence, his positioning blocking their path... it felt wrong. Seraphina's desperate warning echoed: They're coming for you!

"Lead the way, Uncle," Lucian said, his voice tight. He didn't lower his dagger. "But walk ahead. We'll follow."

Cassian's eyes narrowed slightly. The pleasant mask slipped, revealing a flash of icy calculation. "Of course, Lucian. Whatever makes you feel secure." He turned smoothly, his back to them, and strode confidently towards the dark mouth of the servants' stairwell. "This way! Stay close!"

Lucian pushed Seraphina gently but firmly forward, keeping himself slightly behind her, his eyes fixed on Cassian's back. The young guard stumbled after them, still coughing. The heat intensified as they moved away from the main corridor inferno, but the smoke was thicker here, trapped in the narrower space. It burned Lucian's lungs. He pulled a corner of his jacket collar up over his nose and mouth, offering the other corner to Seraphina. She grabbed it wordlessly, pressing the rough wool against her face, her eyes watering.

The servants' stairs were steep, narrow, and pitch black except for the flickering, hellish glow reflecting down from the corridor above. Cassian descended quickly, his figure a dark silhouette against the orange haze. Lucian kept Seraphina close, his free hand on the cold stone wall for balance, the other still gripping his dagger. Every sense screamed alert. The only sounds were their ragged breathing, the crackle of the distant fire, and the rhythmic tap of Cassian's boots on the stone steps.

They descended one flight. Then another. The air grew marginally cooler, the smoke less suffocating, but the darkness deepened. Lucian could barely see Cassian a few steps below. Seraphina stumbled on a worn step, her hand flying out to grab Lucian's arm. He steadied her instantly, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse under his fingers.

"Careful, Princess," Cassian's voice floated up, smooth and mocking from the gloom below. "These stairs are treacherous. One false step..."

Lucian's grip on his dagger tightened. He pulled Seraphina closer, practically shielding her with his body as they descended another turn. They were deep in the palace bowels now. The air smelled of damp stone, dust, and the lingering scent of kitchen herbs from somewhere below. The fire seemed distant, muffled.

Cassian stopped suddenly on a small landing. He turned, his face barely visible in the near-total darkness. "Here we are," he announced, his voice echoing slightly. "The lower storage level. Safe. We can cut through to the south courtyard." He gestured towards a heavy wooden door set into the stone wall. It looked old, reinforced with iron bands.

Lucian stopped two steps above the landing, keeping Seraphina slightly behind him. He scanned the small space. It was a dead end. Only the stairs going up, and this door. His soldier's instincts screamed trap. "That door leads to the old wine cellars," he stated, his voice flat. "Not the courtyard."

Cassian chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound. "Ah, yes. My mistake. The NEXT landing. My mind is addled by the smoke." He made a show of rubbing his temples. "This old palace is a maze. Come." He turned back towards the stairs, as if to continue down.

But Lucian didn't move. He'd seen it. A faint scrape of metal on stone. The barest shift in the shadows beside the heavy cellar door.

"Uncle," Lucian said, his voice dangerously calm. "Who else is down here?"

Cassian froze, half-turned. The false cheer evaporated. Silence stretched, thick and heavy in the damp air. Then, a low, guttural voice spoke from the darkness beside the door.

"Just insurance, Your Highness."

Two figures detached themselves from the deep shadows. Big men, dressed in dark, nondescript clothes, not palace livery. They moved with the quiet confidence of professionals. Each held a heavy, brutal-looking club. One stepped between Cassian and the stairs down, blocking their escape route. The other moved towards Lucian and Seraphina on the landing.

Cassian sighed, a sound of exaggerated regret. He turned fully to face Lucian, his hand resting firmly on his sword hilt now. No pretense remained. His eyes were cold and hard as flint. "You always were too clever for your own good, Lucian. And too trusting of vipers." He nodded towards Seraphina, who had pressed herself flat against the cold stone wall, her eyes wide with terror, fixed on the approaching thug.

The man with the club took another step towards Lucian. He was close enough now that Lucian could smell the stale sweat and cheap tobacco on him. The man's eyes were flat, emotionless.

"It didn't have to be like this, nephew," Cassian said, his voice devoid of warmth. "The treaty was folly. Marrying THAT..." he jerked his chin contemptuously at Seraphina, "...was an insult to our bloodline. Eldorra needs strong, pure leadership. Not weakness shackled to the enemy." He drew his sword with a soft, metallic hiss. The blade gleamed dully in the faint light filtering down the stairwell. "The fire was unfortunate. A tragic accident that claimed the Crown Prince and his treacherous bride. A terrible loss... but one the kingdom will recover from. Under *new* management."

The thug with the club lunged.

Lucian moved faster. He shoved Seraphina hard towards the corner of the landing, away from the swing. "STAY DOWN!" he roared. At the same time, he ducked under the whistling arc of the club and drove his dagger upwards with all his strength.

The blade sank deep into the man's side, just below the ribs. The thug grunted, more surprise than pain, his swing faltering. Lucian ripped the dagger free in a spray of warm blood. The man stumbled back, clutching his side, his club clattering to the stone floor.

But there was no time. The second thug was already moving past Cassian, club raised. And Cassian himself was advancing, his sword point aimed steadily at Lucian's chest. Behind Lucian, Seraphina scrambled back, a choked cry escaping her lips.

Lucian faced them, his back against the damp stone wall, his bloodied dagger held ready. One wounded thug. One fresh. And his uncle, a skilled swordsman, with a blade longer than his own dagger. Trapped on a narrow landing. Smoke still stung his eyes. His lungs burned.

Cassian smiled, a predator's smile. "Goodbye, nephew."

He raised his sword. The unwounded thug stepped forward, club ready to batter Lucian's defenses down. Lucian braced himself, knowing the odds were impossible.

Then, movement. A blur from the corner where he'd shoved Seraphina. Not away. Forward.

Seraphina launched herself not at the thug, not at Cassian, but at the young guard who had followed them down. The guard stood frozen, eyes wide with terror, near the top of the stairs they'd just descended. Seraphina crashed into him, her hand diving into the leather pouch at his belt. She yanked free not a weapon, but a small, cylindrical object. Lucian recognized it instantly – a palace signal flare.

Before anyone could react, Seraphina slammed the base of the flare against the stone wall. It sparked violently. With a strength born of sheer desperation, she hurled the hissing, spitting flare straight at Cassian's face.