Seraphine's POV
The teacup shattered against my face.
Hot liquid burned down my cheek as Lady Ashford's shrill voice filled the dining hall. "You clumsy fool! You looked at me wrong!"
I hadn't looked at her at all. I'd been scrubbing the floor like I did every morning, trying to be invisible. But being invisible never worked when you had silver eyes that people called "unnatural."
My knees ached from kneeling on the cold stone floor for three hours. Blood dripped from my cracked fingers onto the tiles I'd just cleaned. The other servants backed away from me like I carried a disease. Maybe I did. Maybe whatever made me different—whatever made Lady Ashford hate me—was catching.
"I'm sorry, my lady," I whispered, keeping my head down.
"Sorry?" She laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "You've been sorry since Lord Viktor bought you five years ago. Sorry doesn't make you less worthless."
Her heel slammed into my ribs. Pain exploded through my side, but I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. Showing pain only made it worse.
"Get out of my sight," Lady Ashford spat. "And don't let me see that hideous face until tomorrow."
I grabbed my bucket and fled to the servants' quarters, my vision blurry with tears I refused to let fall. The other servants scattered when I entered. No one wanted to be near the "cursed girl."
In the tiny corner where I slept—not even a real room, just a space behind some old crates—I collapsed onto my thin blanket. My whole body hurt. The burn on my cheek throbbed. My ribs screamed with every breath.
But the worst pain was in my chest, in a place I couldn't name. An emptiness that felt like I'd lost something important, something I couldn't remember.
Why did I feel so alone? I'd always been alone. This was normal.
So why did normal feel so wrong?
I pressed my bleeding hand against my chest, and something strange happened. Warmth spread from my palm, golden and gentle. The cuts on my fingers tingled, and when I looked down, the wounds were closing. Healing.
My heart hammered. This had been happening more lately—strange things I couldn't explain. Flowers blooming when I touched them. Sick dogs getting better after I petted them. And always, always, this feeling that I was supposed to be somewhere else. Someone else.
I shoved my hands under my blanket, scared. If anyone saw, they'd call me a witch. Lord Viktor would sell me to someone even worse, if that was possible.
Sleep came hard that night. When it finally did, the dream returned.
I was standing in a palace made of clouds and golden light. Everything sparkled like stars. I wore white robes that flowed like water, and on my head sat a crown that felt warm and right, like it belonged there.
"Astraea," a voice called. My voice, but not my voice. Stronger. Happier. "Astraea, Goddess of Dawn."
I turned, reaching for someone I couldn't see. A man with kind eyes and a smile that made my heart ache. But before I could reach him, everything changed.
A woman who looked almost like me—same silver eyes, same dark hair—stood before me. But her face was twisted with hate.
"You don't deserve this!" she screamed. "You don't deserve to be loved!"
She pushed me, and I fell backward off a cliff made of clouds. I was falling, falling, falling through an endless sky. Power ripped away from me like someone tearing off my skin. I screamed, but no sound came out.
Golden light exploded from my body and scattered into a million pieces, disappearing into the darkness below.
"You will suffer," the woman's voice echoed. "You will suffer as I have suffered. You will be nothing. Less than nothing."
I woke up with tears streaming down my face, my heart racing so fast I thought it might burst.
The dream felt real. Too real. Like a memory instead of a nightmare.
But that was impossible. I'd been a servant my whole life. I'd never worn a crown or lived in a palace. I'd never been anyone important.
So why did I wake up every time feeling like I'd lost everything?
I curled into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest. The burn on my cheek hurt, my ribs ached, and I was so, so tired of being in pain.
"Please," I whispered to the darkness, not knowing who I was talking to. "If there's anyone out there who cares, please help me. I don't know how much more I can take."
The words barely left my mouth when heavy footsteps thundered through the manor. Doors slammed. Voices shouted.
My blood turned to ice.
Lord Viktor only made that much noise when something bad was about to happen.
I heard him yelling orders, heard the servants scrambling. Then his voice boomed through the thin walls: "Where is that silver-eyed girl? Find her now!"
My hands shook. What had I done? I'd stayed out of sight like Lady Ashford ordered. I hadn't broken anything or stolen food.
The door to the servants' quarters burst open, and two guards stomped in. Their eyes locked on me.
"You," one of them growled. "Lord Viktor wants you. Now."
They grabbed my arms and dragged me through the manor. I tried to ask what I'd done wrong, but terror closed my throat. They threw me into Lord Viktor's study, and I hit the floor hard.
Lord Viktor sat behind his desk, a cruel smile on his face. In his hand was a piece of paper with an official seal.
"Well, well," he said, his eyes gleaming with something that made my stomach turn. "It seems you're worth something after all, you worthless creature."
I didn't understand. "My lord?"
"I've sold you," he announced, looking pleased with himself. "To pay off a very important debt. You should be honored—you're going to serve someone far above your station."
Sold. The word echoed in my head. People got sold all the time in this world, but I'd thought... I'd hoped...
"Who?" I managed to whisper.
Lord Viktor's smile grew wider, more cruel. "Duke Cassian Nightborne."
The room spun. Every servant in the kingdom knew that name. The Death Knight. The cursed duke who would die in six months. The man so cold and brutal that even hardened soldiers feared him.
"No," I breathed. "Please, my lord, I'll work harder, I'll—"
"You leave at dawn," Lord Viktor cut me off. "One hour to prepare. Not that you have anything worth taking."
The guards dragged me out. My mind raced with panic. Everyone said Duke Nightborne was cruel. That he'd killed men with his bare hands. That his curse made him hate everyone and everything.
I was being sent to serve a dying man who had no reason to be kind.
Back in my corner, I sat in the darkness, shaking. Tomorrow, my life would change. But I couldn't tell if it would get better or worse.
As I stared at my hands—still stained with blood from scrubbing floors—they began to glow. Soft. Golden. Like the palace from my dream.
The light grew brighter, and for just a second, I heard that voice again: "Astraea."
Then it was gone, and I was just Seraphine again. A nobody. A servant girl being sold to a cursed duke.
But deep in my chest, something stirred. Something that felt like power.
Something that felt like it was waking up.
And somewhere far away—in a place I couldn't see or remember—a woman with silver eyes opened her own eyes in a palace made of clouds.
"She's awakening," the woman whispered, her voice filled with fear and rage. "After three hundred years, my sister is finally awakening."
She smiled, cold and cruel.
"Then it's time to finish what I started."