Chapter 9
Seraphina's eyes darted around frantically, searching for a place—anywhere—she could teleport to, but there was nothing. The mountaintop was barren, void of cover, save for a few dead trees and rocky hills.
"Stop right there!" she yelled sharply, hurriedly slipping on her blouse. It was a fitted top with belts, paired with a skirt, practical for movement but also feminine.
As soon as the command left her lips, she heard his footsteps halt. Her heart pounded, her hands fumbling in her rush to get dressed. Her cheeks burned with a mix of anger and humiliation. He was watching her.
That shameless, arrogant bastard was actually watching.
She refused to turn around. If she did and met his gaze, she would be even more humiliated. Stay focused. Just finish dressing.
When she finally turned, he was standing there, still watching.
Her fists clenched at the audacity. Her fury surged, and without hesitation, she marched up to him and slapped him—hard.
The impact rang through the cold mountain air. And damn, it felt satisfying.
But instead of anger, his reaction made her blood boil even more. A smirk. That same infuriating smirk.
"Pervert," she muttered through clenched teeth, turning sharply to walk away.
Before she could take a single step, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist.
She gasped as he pulled her back with effortless strength. Her back hit his solid chest, and she felt the heat radiating from his body. The contact sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine, and she hated how utterly unbothered he seemed.
"You hit a man for watching his bride naked," Rhydian murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "Don't you think that's cruel?"
His breath was warm against her skin, far too close, sending her shiver down her spine.
She wanted to punch him. Forget the absurd handsomeness of his face, he was annoying as hell.
She jerked her arm free. "Let me go. I need to pluck some fruits."
Rhydian let her go, watching her with an almost lazy amusement, as if he was allowing her this small victory.
Seraphina bit her lips, her anger surging...he thought he was untouchable huh?
Well, she'd make sure to fix that.
A slow, wicked idea formed in her mind. The itching spell.
A simple yet brutal enchantment—one that wouldn't stop until the caster chose to undo it. Freya had once used it on her as a child after she had smashed her doll out of jealousy. Seraphina had spent days suffering, itching so badly she nearly cried before finally apologizing.
Perfect for teaching him a lesson.
She turned to him, eyes softening, voice deceptively sweet. "What's your name?"
Rhydian's brows furrowed, a flicker of suspicion in his crimson eyes.
"Why do you ask?"
Seraphina fought the urge to smirk. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, softening her expression just enough. "I want to bond with you. Isn't it right that I know the name of my groom?"
For a moment, he studied her. Then, his smirk deepened.
"You think I don't know what you're up to, little witch?" he said smoothly. "You want to cast a spell on me, don't you?"
Damn it.
He was a smart one.
Before she could formulate another approach, a voice rang out from behind them.
"Rhydian. His name is Rhydian!"
Seraphina's head snapped in the direction of the voice. A man approached—a stranger, but one of clear royal blood. His presence exuded strength. She could tell by just looking at a person, how much power they possessed, but oddly enough, Rhydian was the only person whose prowess she couldn't figure out.
Rhydian's crimson gaze darkened slightly, his jaw tensing for the first time.
Seraphina took full advantage of the distraction.
"Rhydian, huh?" she called out, flashing a mockingly sweet smile. "Thank you!"
Without wasting another moment, she took off running, already chanting the spell under her breath.
Let's see how high and mighty you act when you're scratching like a mad man.
Glancing back once, she saw the other man had already reached Rhydian, and they were now engaged in conversation. They were close, that much was obvious.
She turned back ahead, venturing deeper into the mountains in search of the fire fruit.
When she reached the familiar grove, she halted in shock.
A woman—dressed in tattered clothing—was plucking all the fruits. Every single one, stuffing them into a large sack.
Seraphina rushed forward. "Wait, why are you taking all of them?"
The woman turned, eyes piercing and strangely knowing. "For wine," she said simply.
Seraphina inhaled deeply, calming herself. "Alright, leave some for me. I came all the way here for this fruit."
The woman stared at her. Then, she did something odd.
She sniffed.
Then stepped closer. Sniffed again. And then—she sniffed Seraphina directly.
Seraphina stiffened. What the hell?
"You're a witch, aren't you?" the woman asked, smirking now.
Seraphina hesitated before nodding slowly.
"And you came here to kill the king."
Her heart skipped a beat.
How?
How the hell did she know?
Her spine straightened immediately. "What do you mean kill? I'm here as a bride," she said firmly, voice void of hesitation.
The woman's lips moved. Whispering something—an incantation.
And then—**before Seraphina's very eyes—**the woman's form shifted.
The tattered clothes, the rough appearance—all of it melted away.
In her place stood Freya.
Seraphina's breath caught.
"Freya?"
Without thinking, she threw her arms around her. "What are you doing here? Did you come to visit me?"
The warmth of reunion filled her chest. Only a day apart, and she already missed her.
But then—Freya didn't return the hug.
Instead, her voice was cold. Sharp.
"No, Sera. I came to kill you."