She dragged in air and coughed it back out, her vision clearing enough to see his face. Pale. Furious. Shaken in a way that looked like fear barely contained.
He had entered the water after her.
Publicly.
In front of court and clergy and every witness the temple had summoned to watch women drown.
The shrine had gone silent.
Lucien pulled her toward the dock, his arm still locked around her, water streaming from his hair and the shoulders of his ruined formal coat. When they reached the stone, he lifted her bodily onto the dock before hauling himself up beside her.
Sabine knelt on cold stone, shaking, still clutching the circlet fragment and the strip of music in her numb fingers.
Serast descended from the upper gallery with Bloodwright Maelor beside him.
“The objects retrieved from the Blackwater belong to the rite,” Serast said. His voice was perfectly calm. “Surrender them to temple custody.”
Sabine looked up, water dripping from her hair, her gown plastered to her body.
Lucien stepped between her and Serast.
“She retrieved the objects under trial witness as my chosen bride,” Lucien said. His voice carried across the shrine, cold and absolute. “By selection right, I claim inspection before temple custody.”
“The Blackwater yields what it yields,” Serast replied. “Interpretation belongs to the priesthood.”
“Inspection belongs to the prince.” Lucien did not raise his voice. He did not need to. “Unless you wish to argue that selection rights no longer apply once the river is involved.”
The silence stretched.
Maelor watched with polished menace, his gaze moving between Lucien and the objects still clutched in Sabine’s hands.
Serast inclined his head fractionally. “Inspection, then. But the objects remain attached to the trial record. Any attempt to remove them from temple grounds constitutes theft of sacred property.”
Lucien crouched beside Sabine.
His fingers closed over hers, warm against her frozen skin, and he carefully pried the circlet fragment and the strip of music from her grip.
The mark flared where they touched.
He met her eyes for one brief second, and Sabine read the message clearly.
Keep it.
He handed the circlet fragment to Halvine for the trial record.
Then he pressed the strip of music back into Sabine’s hand, his fingers closing over hers hard enough that no one watching could see exactly what he had returned.
“The trial is complete,” Halvine announced. “Lady Sabine Corvyr has passed.”
Sabine stood on shaking legs, the strip of music hidden in her palm, water still streaming from her gown.
Lucien rose beside her.
For one heartbeat, his hand touched the small of her back. Brief. Steadying. Possessive enough that every witness saw it.
Then he stepped away, and attendants moved forward to wrap Sabine in wool and guide her back toward the palace above.
Lysa stripped the wet gown away with quick, practiced hands.
