The night smelled of roses… and death.
Seraphina stood motionless as the maids pulled the final lace of her gown tight, each tug pressing the breath deeper into her chest. The air was thick with candle smoke and perfume, yet her fingers remained cold.
"Do not look him in the eyes for too long," one of the maids whispered behind her.
Seraphina's gaze flickered slightly.
"Why?"
The maid hesitated, her hands faltering for just a moment.
"…because those who do never remain the same."
Silence followed.
Seraphina lowered her eyes, not in fear—but in thought.
Good.
She did not come here to remain the same.
The palace roared louder than any battlefield.
Laughter echoed beneath high ceilings. Crystal glasses clinked in careless celebration. Musicians played melodies too cheerful for a night like this.
But beneath it all…
There was something else.
Something sharp.
Something suffocating.
Fear.
Because tonight—
She was to marry him.
Prince Kael Draven.
The man who never smiled.
The man whispered to have bathed in blood before ever reaching for a crown.
The grand doors creaked open.
Every sound died.
Every gaze turned.
Seraphina stepped forward, slow and deliberate, her veil trailing behind her like a living shadow. Each step echoed across the marble floor, measured… unshaken.
And then—
She saw him.
Seated upon the throne, draped in black and gold, Prince Kael watched her as if he had been waiting long before she ever entered the room.
Not surprised.
Not curious.
Certain.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
But something shifted.
Something unseen.
Something dangerous.
Kael rose to his feet.
The silence deepened.
He descended the steps toward her, each footstep deliberate, heavy—like a warning carved into sound itself.
When he reached her, he did not touch her.
Did not bow.
Did not smile.
Instead, he leaned closer, just enough for only her to hear.
"Tell me, my queen…"
His voice was low. Smooth.
Dangerously calm.
"…what exactly did you come here to take from me?"
Seraphina's heart skipped.
Not from fear.
From realization.
He knows.
Or at least… he suspects.
But instead of retreating—
She smiled.
Soft.
Controlled.
Deadly.
"And what makes you think," she whispered,
"…that I came to take anything at all?"
For the first time—
Kael's lips shifted.
Not quite a smile.
Something darker.
Something far more dangerous.
"Because," he murmured,
"everyone who enters this palace…"
His gaze hardened, shadows gathering in his eyes.
"…either wants power—"
He leaned closer.
"—or leaves in pieces."
And somewhere within the crowd—
Lord Alaric watched.
His grip tightened around his cup, the glass threatening to crack beneath the pressure.
His eyes never left Seraphina.
Not with curiosity.
Not with respect.
But with something far more unsettling.
Hunger.