THE PRINCE SHE POISONED: I returned as her brother-in-law

Fire in the Veins

The roof of the ancient chapel had caved in three winters ago, leaving the headless stone statues exposed to the freezing midnight rain. Water ran down the cracked walls, pooling in the overgrown weeds that choked the stone floorboards.

Cale leaned his weight heavily against the side of a broken altar, his left leg dragging like a sack of damp sand. Every breath pulled at his ribs, his shattered mana channels throbbing in rhythmic, sickening pulses beneath his skin.

A shadow detached itself from the ruined archway near the back.

Lyra didn't make a sound until her leather boots hit the wet stone two feet away. Rain slicked her dark leather armor, and her face was smeared with black soot from the alleys of the Sinking District. She pulled a small, heavy glass bottle wrapped in oiled canvas from her tunic. The liquid inside cast a faint, angry amber light through the glass, thick as molten gold.

"The Nightshade Circle didn't want to hand it over," she whispered, her breath blooming white in the cold air. "The master alchemist swore a man with shattered channels would bleed from his eyes and ears before the first mouthful swallowed down."

"Then he built it right," Cale rasped, taking the bottle. The glass was searing hot against his cold, numb fingers.

"The guild is signed," Lyra added, her hand resting near the hilt of her dagger. "I paid off their debts with the gold from the grain futures and locked their front doors. If the city watch asks, the Blind Broker is hoarding apothecary stock for a winter fever outbreak."

"Good. Return to the perimeter," Cale ordered softly. "If an imperial scout strays from the main courtyard toward this chapel, kill them."

Lyra hesitated for a split second, her sharp eyes fixing on the glowing bottle. "That stuff burns from the core outward, Cale. You scream, and the sentries on the north wall will hear you."

"I won't scream."

She gave him a grim nod and dissolved back into the dark.

Cale turned back toward the headless statue. He pulled the wax plug with his teeth, spat the red shavings into the mud, and tipped the thick amber fluid straight down his throat.

It didn't taste like medicine. It tasted like liquid copper and furnace ash.

The moment the draught hit his stomach, Cale’s vision went solid white.

It felt as if someone had thrust a white-hot iron rod into his chest and stirred. The heat exploded outward in a violent, kinetic shockwave, rushing directly into the thousands of spiderweb fractures in his mana channels.

His knees slammed into the stone floor. Cale grabbed the edge of the altar so hard his fingernails cracked against the rough granite, blood pooling under the quick.

The agony was absolute. It wasn't just heat—it was glass shards dragging through dry, dead veins, ripping open every sealed vessel in his chest. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, and a thick, metallic taste flooded his mouth as his throat convulsed.

Don't scream.

If he screamed, the guards searching the Annex would turn back. If he screamed, Evelyn would know the discarded prince wasn't dying in his bed.

Cale forced his eyes open, staring down at the mud between his knuckles. Through the blinding haze of pain, the memory came back—sharp, cold, and clear.

He remembered the golden goblet on his wedding day. He remembered the faint, metallic tang of the needle slipping into his wine while he smiled at the woman he loved. He remembered the sound of Evelyn’s silk gown rustling against the marble as she stepped over his twitching body, walking straight into the arms of the man who had bought his life.

That hatred was colder than the liquid fire burning through his ribs.

He didn't fight the pain. He seized it. He took the agonizing heat of the Sun-Dragon Marrow and forced it into his rage, using his sheer willpower to hold his convulsing body still.

Stitch it together, he spat silently into the dark inside his head. Rebuild it!

With a terrifying, wet tear inside his chest, the broken vessels in his lower sternum snapped shut. The suffocating heat shifted, cooling rapidly into a heavy, liquid density that settled deep in his lower abdomen.

Where his shattered core had once been a dry, useless pit of dead tissue, a single, thread-like filament of dark purple mana flickered into existence.

1st-Circle Shadow Mana.

The blinding white heat receded like a falling tide, leaving behind a deep, thrumming warmth that spread through his limbs. Faint wisps of steam rose off his wet tunic into the freezing night air.

Cale slowly let out a long breath, wiping the red smear from his lower lip with the back of his hand.

He pushed himself up off the stone floor.

There was no sharp, tearing agony in his left hip. There was no rattle of fluid in his lungs. Cale let go of the altar and stood completely upright. He took a step forward—his boot came down firm, silent, and balanced. He took another step. No limp. No drag. His spine straightened, his shoulders square and broad in the darkness.

He raised his right hand and flexed his fingers. With a light twitch of his intent, the tiny thread of shadow mana surged down his arm, coating his knuckles in a faint, light-devouring haze.

His physical body was no longer broken.

Heavy iron boots thundered across the courtyard outside, accompanied by the clinking of steel scabbards and the harsh flare of torches cut through the driving rain.

Cale’s eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. In less than a heartbeat, the shadow mana around his hand vanished, sucked back into his core. His broad posture vanished; he dropped his left hip, slouched his shoulders, and grabbed his iron cane from the mud with a weak, trembling hand, dragging his leg behind him as he melted back into the shadows of the chapel.

CRACK.

A sharp, heavy blow rattled the rusted iron hinges of the South Annex outer gate.

A woman's voice cut through the storm—cool, sharp, and dripping with high-born authority:

"By order of the imperial betrothed, Lady Evelyn, this wing is under royal audit. Open this gate immediately, or my men will tear it down!"