"No," I said, "but law enjoys evidence."
Her eyes flicked to my burned fingers. She understood. Good. Let her worry.
Later in Malric's private war room, I placed the split seal and old ledger on the table.
"Kieran is tied to the petition," I said.
Malric's fire rose so fast the candles guttered backward. "Where is he?"
"Not here. Not yet. If he comes near her, that is what they want." I pushed the ledger toward him. "Sheba will use her witness right to challenge the oath cake. If she can claim contamination, weakness, or deception, she can force a trial before the court."
Malric read the marked line. The temperature in the room changed.
"White fire," he said.
"Yes."
His hands curled into fists. "They would make me burn my own wife. They would make you choose between refusing court law or subjecting her to it. If you refuse, they call your claim false. If she fails, she dies. If you lose control, they call you unfit."
Silence. Then Malric said very softly, "And if she survives?"
I thought of the ring burning my hand for speaking ownership over it. "If she survives," I said, "the court will have to kneel."
Outside the war room, a bell sounded from the West Terrace kitchen. One clear note, then another. A servant rushed in, breathless.
"My lord, Lord Julius, the official witness has begun inspection."
Malric was already moving. I gathered the petition, the split seal, and the law that had been sharpened against Belinda's throat. Sheba was not coming to watch a cake. She was coming to light the oven.
The bell rang once, then twice. Every spoon in the West Terrace kitchen stopped moving. Sheba stood in the doorway like she had been carved there out of spite and red silk. Two Ember House flanked her, both holding black tablets and wearing expressions that said they had never eaten anything with joy in their lives.
"By witness right," Sheba said, "I begin inspection."
Cindy leaned close to me. "[ __ ] brought witnesses to witness her witnessing."
"Accurate," I muttered.
Sheba's eyes flicked to us. "The oath cake must be pure."
"It's cake," I said, "not a virgin sacrifice."
One of her women gasped. I smiled. "First time in a kitchen?"
Sheba moved through my work space touching nothing, which was good because if she put one jeweled finger in my sugar, I was going to make dragon history for all the wrong reasons. She inspected flour, butter, Ember honey, blood orange peel, vanilla, rum, and three kinds of sugar like each ingredient might confess under pressure.
"Human hands prepared these?" she asked.
"My hands," I said. "Cindy's. Melon's. Derek lifted a sack of flour and complained for 10 minutes, so spiritually his too."
"Low mortal labor does not belong in oath food."
"My contract says my staff belongs wherever I say they belong."
Her smile sharpened. "You hide behind paper."
"No, I use paper. Very different. Hiding is what people do when they don't want their plan seen."
For one breath her face changed. There, a crack. Small, but I saw it. Then she lifted a thin silver hook from her sleeve and reached toward my ring. I snatched my hand back.
"Try that again and you'll pull back fewer fingers."
The kitchen went silent. Sheba's gaze lowered to my hand. "A queen should not fear examination."
"A queen should not let jealous women touch her jewelry."
Heat rolled into the room. Malric. He entered with Julius behind him and the whole kitchen seemed to shrink around his shoulders.
"What is this?" he asked.
Sheba bowed just enough to insult him politely. "Inspection, my lord. Your bride refuses lawful witness."
"She refused your hand," Julius said. "Not the law."
Sheba turned to the gathered elders now filling the corridor behind her. Of course she had brought an audience. Dragons loved nothing more than making attempted murder ceremonial.
"If the ring rejects witness, if the bride hides behind mortal servants, if the oath cake cannot be trusted," Sheba said, voice carrying, "then let the claim be proven by old right."
Julius went still. Malric's fire pressed against the air. My stomach sank.
"What old right?"
Sheba looked at me and smiled. "Trial by white fire."
The words hit the room like a blade through cloth.
Cindy whispered, "Absolutely the [ __ ] not."
Malachi's voice dropped so low the stones seemed to listen. "No."
Sheba did not even look at him. "Refusal will stand as confession that the bride is unworthy and the ring false."
I looked at Julius. He did not soften it for me. "Old law permits the challenge before the final oath."
"So what?" I asked. "He burns me and we see if I die?"
Nobody answered fast enough.
"Oh, hell no," Derek said from behind the guards.
Malachi stepped in front of me. "This ends now."
And there was the trap. I saw it so clearly it made me angry. If Malachi refused, Sheba won the story. If he killed her for asking, she became a martyr with perfect hair. If I ran, every clan in this mountain would whisper that the baker queen broke before the fire ever touched her.
I hated dragons. I hated politics. I really hated that my stupid ring warmed like it already knew what I was about to say.
"I'll do it."
Malachi turned on me. "Belinda."