She cried for what felt like hours, her sorrow echoing into the empty night.
A faint cough broke through the silence.
Seraphina froze, her tears halting as she held her breath.
The sound came again—a low, muffled cough, accompanied by the faint smell of alcohol drifting on the wind.
Slowly, she turned toward the noise.
Her eyes landed on a nearby pavilion, partially obscured by the shadows of trees.
Beneath its elegant roof, she could just make out the figure of someone leaning lazily against the carved railing, a flask in hand.
Was it a person?
Or a ghost?
Her heart raced, and she considered running.
Before she could move, a calm voice called out from the pavilion:
"Miss, if you don't mind, join me for a drink. Life is full of hardships—why not ease the pain with a bit of wine?"
The voice was smooth, almost musical, but carried a chilling undertone that sent shivers down her spine.
Yet, despite its coldness, the words themselves felt oddly comforting, like a fragile light piercing through her darkness.
She hesitated.
The man spoke again, his tone unhurried.
Moments later, a young maid emerged from the shadows, carrying a thick fox-fur cloak in her arms.
"This is from my young master," the maid said stiffly, holding the fur out to Seraphina. "He offers it to you to cover yourself."
Seraphina glanced down at her wet, bruised body and hesitated again.
But the chill of the night was unrelenting, and she knew she couldn't stay in the freezing water forever.
With trembling hands, she accepted the cloak, draping it over herself.
"Thank your master for me," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
The maid stepped closer, her eyes softening as she caught sight of the purple marks that marred Seraphina's skin.
Her gaze flickered with a brief, unspoken pity before she spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone.
"Miss," the maid said, "don't be sad. Most men in this world deserve death. But my master... my master is an exception."
The hint of warmth in the maid's words stirred something faint within Seraphina—a glimmer of curiosity, perhaps.
The maid smiled faintly, taking Seraphina's hand.
"Come," she urged gently. "Let me take you to him. At least for tonight, you don't have to face this alone."
With that, she led Seraphina toward the pavilion.
The lanterns swayed softly in the breeze, casting their dim light across the tranquil stream as the night stretched on.
When they reached the pavilion, Seraphina Evercrest noticed a young man standing silently by its entrance, a sword held firmly in his grasp.
His posture was rigid, his presence cold and unyielding.
The sharp aura around him seemed almost tangible, like the edge of a blade ready to strike.
Seraphina couldn't help but glance at him twice, her nerves prickling uneasily.
The maid beside her smiled reassuringly. "Don't be afraid, young lady. This is the young master's personal guard. His name is Sebastian Ember."
Before Seraphina could respond, the boy with the sword interrupted sharply, "Stop talking!" His voice was as cold as his stance, making her flinch slightly.
The maid, undeterred, chuckled and stuck her tongue out at him playfully before pulling Seraphina up the steps of the pavilion.
Seraphina's discomfort only deepened as they entered the dimly lit structure.
She had thought she was alone in her sorrow, that her tears in the garden had gone unseen.
But now she realized there were three others—master and servants—hidden within the stillness of the night, their presence entirely unnoticed until now.
At the heart of the pavilion sat the young man who had spoken earlier.
He was leisurely sipping wine from a golden cup, his movements slow and deliberate.
The dim light cast flickering shadows across his face, making it difficult to discern his features at first.
But as Seraphina drew closer, she froze.
She had never seen anyone like him before. His beauty was almost otherworldly.
His pale skin seemed to glow faintly under the lantern's light, smooth and unblemished.
His lips were soft and barely tinted with a faint pink hue.
Dark, raven-black hair fell gracefully down his back, held in place by a purple-gold crown.
His features were sharp and delicate, perfectly balanced between masculine and feminine beauty, giving him an ethereal charm that left her breathless.
He lowered his gaze to the golden cup in his hand, appearing lost in thought.
But when he raised his eyes to her, she felt as if the world had stopped.
Those deep, midnight-black eyes pierced through her, seeming to uncover every secret she held, every crack in her soul.
There was a profound sadness in his gaze, one she couldn't understand but found herself drawn to.
"Please, sit," he said, his voice soft but commanding.
Seraphina snapped out of her daze, clutching the fox fur closer around her damp body.
It was only then that she realized the fur coat must belong to him.
It was too large for her, its length and width meant for a man of his stature.
Her heart warmed slightly at the thought. He had given her his coat to protect her dignity, even at the cost of his own comfort.
The fur was thick and soft, carrying a faint, clean fragrance that calmed her.
Its warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold that had gripped her since she'd left the stream.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.
The young man regarded her for a moment before gesturing to the maid. "Bring her a cup," he ordered.
The maid quickly obeyed, setting a golden goblet before Seraphina.
The young man poured wine into her cup and said lightly, "If I'm not mistaken, your surname is Crest . Are you the new concubine the Ghost Prince took in today?"
Seraphina stared at the wine for a long moment before replying softly, "Yes. I am... Seraphina Evercrest."
She lifted the cup with trembling hands, taking a small sip.
The sharp, bitter taste of the wine burned her throat, and tears welled in her eyes once more.
No matter how hard she tried, the pain inside her refused to be silenced.
"I'm sorry for intruding on your peace," she said, her voice cracking. She placed the cup down and turned to leave. "I'll take my leave now."
"Wait," he called, his voice stopping her in her tracks.
Seraphina turned back, her eyes falling to the fox fur draped over her shoulders. "Young master," she said hesitantly, "may I ask your name? And this coat... I'll return it to you."
"That's not necessary," he replied, a faint cough escaping his lips. His face paled slightly as he suppressed it.
The maid at the doorway rushed forward in alarm. "Young master, you can't expose yourself to the night air like this! Without your coat, the chill will only worsen your condition—"
"Enough, Elara Grey," he interrupted firmly, his voice calm but edged with authority.
"But master!" Elara Grey protested, her worry evident in the tremor of her voice. "You know how weak your body is. If you catch a cold again, your illness—"
"Step back," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Seraphina watched the exchange in silence, her heart inexplicably heavy.
There was something in his voice—something unyielding yet deeply melancholic—that made her chest ache.