SERAPHINA POV:
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, the rhythmic clatter a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. The King's permission had been spoken only, a fragile thing that could be rescinded. I needed it in writing, etched into a formal contract, before anyone could change his mind.
I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to even out, and began to map out my next steps.
The royal messenger arrived at Hayes Manor the very next morning, carrying the official marriage contract. My stepmother, Beatrice, stared at me as if I'd grown a second head, her face a mask of forced smiles as she greeted the King's man.
I signed my name, the ink bleeding slightly on the parchment. Seraphina Hayes. From this moment on, I was the betrothed of Gideon Beaumont-Carlisle.
The moment the messenger was gone, Beatrice's smile vanished. "Are you mad? To throw away the Prince for a cripple?"
"It was my choice," I said simply.
Arguing with her was a waste of breath. I turned and walked to my room, leaving her fuming in the grand entryway. This place had been a prison in two lifetimes. Soon, I would be free of it.
For the next few days, I feigned illness and kept to my room, preparing for the wedding. I needed to be strong for whatever awaited me at Ironfang Keep.
I let my mind drift back to the darkest days of my past life. After Damien had grown bored of me, he'd thrown me in the dungeons. I was starving, broken, waiting to die.
Then Gideon had appeared. He had woken from his coma not long after I became Damien's bride—a miracle I'd only heard of from inside my cell.
He was just passing through on an inspection, a towering figure of quiet authority. He'd seen me huddled in the corner, a pathetic heap of rags. He didn't say a word. He just paused, looked at the guard, and nodded toward me. The guard, terrified of him, had grudgingly pushed a piece of clean bread and a cup of water through the bars.
It was a small kindness, a meaningless gesture to him. But to me, it was the only warmth I had felt in that endless, freezing darkness.
That was why. This life, I would protect him.
A few days later, I "ran into" Damien in the palace gardens. He had regained his usual arrogance, his tone dripping with condescension.
"Have you had enough of this little tantrum? It's not too late to regret it."
I looked at him, truly looked at him, and felt nothing but a distant pity.
I didn't even bother to reply. I simply sank into a perfect, formal curtsy and turned to leave.
My utter dismissal ignited his fury. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. "Seraphina, do not test my patience."
I met his blazing eyes, my own calm and cold. "Your Highness, I must ask you to unhand me. I am to be your aunt."
His face went pale, then red, then a mottled, ugly purple.
I pulled my arm free, turned my back on him, and walked away. I could feel his murderous gaze burning into my spine.
Back in my room, I took out a pen and paper and wrote a letter to the royal chamberlain, formally requesting that my wedding date be moved up. I couldn't bear to stay in this city, to breathe the same air as Damien, a moment longer.
The request was approved with surprising speed. It seemed the King was also eager to put this embarrassing affair to rest.
The wedding was set for three days' time.
When Damien heard the news, he flew into another rage. He saw it as a challenge, a public declaration of defiance. He was on his way to confront me again when the Queen physically blocked his path, warning him that if he continued this obsession, he would make the entire royal family a laughingstock.
The date was set. My escape was imminent.
DAMIEN POV:
My rage was a physical force, coiling through me until my hands shook with it. I'd shattered the goblet before I even registered reaching for it—the priceless dragon-crystal shattering against the floor, the shards biting into my palm. I watched, almost detached, as drops of my golden blood, pure-blood and bright, soaked into the plush carpet.
I could not accept it.
The woman who had followed me like a shadow for years—who had worshipped the ground I walked on—had publicly humiliated me. And for what?
For him. My uncle. My half-dead, comatose uncle rotting away in that northern fortress.
My attendants knelt on the floor, trembling, too terrified to even breathe. Good. Let them fear me. I wanted to tear the room apart.
The door swept open and my mother entered, her gaze raking over the wreckage with open disapproval. "All this, for a Dragonless nobody?"
"She is not a nobody!" The words tore out of me, raw and ragged. "She is mine!"
I froze even as I said it. Mine. The word had slipped out before I could stop it, and it startled me more than I cared to admit. Since when had I ever felt that way about her?
My mother scoffed, utterly unimpressed. "She is about to become your aunt. Damien, control this ridiculous pride of yours. It's obvious what this is. She's playing games—trying a more dramatic tactic to win your attention."
Of course.
The thought hit me like cold water, and suddenly I could breathe again. That had to be it. That was the only explanation that made sense. She was being clever. She was playing hard to get.
The fury in my chest eased, replaced by a savage satisfaction. I would be magnanimous. I would let her play her little game. And when she came crawling back from that dreary northern fortress, begging for my forgiveness, I would teach her a lesson she would never forget.
