Three years ago.
The palace was alive with the sound of gongs and drums, the air thick with the sounds of celebration and joy.
Guests filled every corner of the grand hall, their laughter and chatter rising to a crescendo as the wedding ceremony unfolded in full grandeur.
But in the side courtyard behind the palace, there was only silence.
A single red wedding banner hung above the door, its color stark against the emptiness of the space. It felt more like an insult than a celebration.
The lavish decoration clashed violently with the quiet, deserted courtyard, a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere just beyond.
Inside the wedding room, Seraphina Evercrest sat alone, her posture regal but her eyes distant, as if her soul had already left her body.
The room was eerily silent save for the occasional pop of a candle burning out in the corner.
She sat, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the Dragon and Phoenix embroidery on the red silk cloth before her.
The noise of celebration seemed a world away, each cheer and clink of glasses only deepening the bitter mockery of her situation.
Her thoughts swirled in confusion, but one truth stood clear: she had once been the beloved daughter of the Duke of Evercrest, a woman admired for both her beauty and her intelligence.
She had once been the future crown princess, destined to marry the man she loved, to rule at his side in the East Palace.
But now? Now she sat here, on her wedding night, as the new concubine of Prince Lysander Celestis—Ghost Prince, the cold and ruthless man who had once been the subject of countless rumors, his name whispered in fear across the capital.
She lifted her hand and slowly pulled the veil away from her face. The bright red silk slipped to the floor, revealing the intricate embroidery of dragons and phoenixes—symbols of a future she never wanted.
Her mind drifted back to that fateful day when she had first met Lysander Celestis—the man who would become her husband. He was a soldier, they said.
His reputation was legendary. It was he who had commanded the slaughter of 3,000 soldiers from Northern Han.
The rumors that followed him painted him as a monster, a cold-hearted killer with no compassion.
And yet, despite everything, he was now her husband.
Seraphina's lips curled into a bitter smile. How ironic, she thought. How truly ironic.
The red veil lay at her feet, and she stared at the intricate designs, her mind struggling to grasp the enormity of her reality. How had things gone so wrong?
A sudden crash startled her, and the door to the wedding room flew open.
Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up to see him standing there, dressed in the bright red groom's robe. His face, handsome and cruel, seemed to gleam with cold light.
She barely had time to react before he strode toward her, his every step filled with unyielding purpose.
His eyes—cold, sharp, and calculating—locked onto hers, and for a moment, she saw nothing but the legend.
The cold, unfeeling warrior who had stolen her future.
Without a word, he stopped before her. His gaze flicked to the veil at her feet, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Why?" he asked, his voice laced with arrogance. "Are you unwilling to marry me, my lady?"
Seraphina took a slow breath, her heart heavy. She wanted to scream, to run, but her body betrayed her.
The man before her was Lysander Celestis, the second prince of the emperor—the man who had become her nightmare.
And he was now her husband.
Seraphina Evercrest lowered her eyelids, her long lashes casting a shadow over her pale face.
She spoke in a quiet, almost hesitant voice, "I dare not." She paused, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she shook her head, "Not only do I dare not, but I should thank Lord Celestis for reluctantly accepting me. Without him, I would have been a laughing stock in the capital, my reputation in tatters."
As she spoke, she raised her head, her dark, clear eyes meeting his gaze.
The quiet stillness between them seemed to thicken, like the space between thunder and the storm.
Lysander Celestis studied her intently, his sharp gaze appraising every inch of her demeanor.
His cold expression softened ever so slightly, his eyes betraying a flicker of something—admiration, perhaps?
"You are quite calm," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Seraphina Evercrest, I thought you would have already taken your own life. It seems you are different from the others."
Seraphina offered him a small smile, a faint curve of her lips.
The smile bloomed like a flower in the dark, a quiet elegance that somehow illuminated the air around her.
It was delicate, fragile, like a night-blooming cereus. Despite the bitterness in her heart, she radiated an almost ethereal grace.
"Your Highness," she replied, her voice a soft melody, "you are different from other men as well. A different kind of shamelessness... and vulgarity."
Lysander's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard.
Then, to her surprise, he laughed—loudly, genuinely, as though she had just told him the funniest joke he had ever heard.
His laughter rang through the air, a sound so foreign to her that she couldn't help but feel a tinge of something… unexpected.
Amusement? Or perhaps it was the lack of malice that she had come to expect from him.
But Seraphina's expression remained unchanged, a calm mask that concealed the turmoil within.
She gave him a fleeting smile before the atmosphere shifted. Lysander's grin faded, and without warning, he stepped forward.
His movements were swift and precise. Before she could react, he had grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her closer.
His icy breath brushed against her ear, and his voice, though steady, sent a shiver down her spine.
"Has no one told you what happens when you anger me?" His words were soft but sharp, each one like a dagger, lingering in the air with an unsettling finality.
Seraphina met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. Her voice, though steady, held an edge of defiance.
"What is the worst that could happen?" she asked. "A month ago, at the poetry gathering, Maelis Blackthorne, the daughter of Prime Minister Blackthorne, pushed me into the lake. You saved me, yes. But what of the slander you spread afterward? You told everyone that we had been in 'physical contact,' didn't you? Why did you do that? What was your purpose?"
Her mind raced back to that day, the gathering by the lake. When she had fallen into the water, it was Lysander who had jumped in to save her.
Yet, when they returned to shore, he had uttered the most damning words in front of the crowd.
He had claimed, in a voice laced with false affection, that he had long admired her and that they had shared an intimate moment when they had fallen into the water.
The rumor spread like wildfire, and soon, it became a weapon used against her.
It was then that she realized the depths of his cruelty. He hadn't just saved her to be kind. No. He had done it to ruin her.
Her face flushed with anger, her calm exterior slipping just enough to let the raw emotion seep through.
For the past month, she had been trapped in the Evercrest household, subject to whispers and mocking glances.
The scandal had spread, and her name had become synonymous with disgrace.
Maelis, with her own ambitions to marry the crown prince, had used Lysander's words to twist the knife deeper.
She had painted Seraphina as a woman of loose morals, and soon, the entire kingdom of Caeslencrest Vale was gossiping about her.
Her gaze grew distant as her eyes began to fill with tears—tears that she quickly blinked away, not allowing them to fall.
The shame, the humiliation—it had all come rushing back.
And now, standing before the man who had started it all, she could no longer keep the questions buried deep inside her.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the weight of her words lingered in the still air. "Why did you do this to me? Why destroy my reputation, and then go to the emperor himself, asking for permission to force me to marry you as a concubine? Was it all just to save face? Was it because you 'couldn't bear' for me to be ruined beyond repair?"
Lysander's eyes turned cold as ice as he looked down at her. His gaze was unrelenting, like a predator sizing up its prey.
He did not speak at first, his lips pressed tightly together. Then, slowly, he let out a quiet laugh, the sound so chilling it sent a tremor through her.
His next words were like a knife.
"Because your last name is Evercrest," he murmured, his voice almost tender, but laced with venom. "You are the daughter of the Duke of Evercrest."
Seraphina's breath hitched as her heart seemed to stop. She felt as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath her.
Her chest tightened with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Of course. Of course it was because of her father. Lysander had never seen her as a person.
She was nothing more than a pawn in a game between two powerful families.
Before she could respond, Lysander moved again.
His hands were fast and merciless.
With a single, brutal tug, her red wedding dress tore down the middle, the fabric ripping with a loud "hiss" as it fell away in ruins.