Chapter 11
The sunlight pierced through her eyelids, forcing them open. A dull throb pulsed in her head, and her body felt strangely weak. She blinked, trying to recall what had happened. That person—whoever they were—had caught her off guard. They had used her only weakness against her: her sister. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
With a slow inhale, Seraphina pushed herself upright, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the sheets. Just then, the door swung open, and Irene entered, followed by a group of maids carrying trays filled with dresses, jewelry, shoes, and other accessories.
Her heart skipped a beat.
A wedding.
Was the wedding today?
The realization hit her like a blow. She had nearly died yesterday, and yet, here they were, preparing for a ceremony like nothing had happened.
She clenched her fists, her mind still reeling, when another detail struck her like a bolt of lightning.
Her wound.
There was no pain. No lingering ache. No discomfort.
Her breath hitched as she lifted her trembling fingers to her stomach. Her skin was smooth—completely unblemished. Her brows furrowed. How? She didn't remember healing herself, and even if she had, such a deep wound would have taken days to recover from.
"Good morning, Your Highness. We've come to prepare you for today's ceremony," Irene said with a bow, the maids following her lead.
Seraphina forced herself to remain calm. So, it was really happening.
"Leave the things here and go. I'll call you after I take my bath," she instructed, waving them off.
Irene, ever the persistent one, shook her head politely. "No, Your Highness. Today is a special day. We must prepare you with utmost care to ensure every detail reflects the significance of this occasion."
Seraphina rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply. She knew there was no point in arguing.
"Whatever," she muttered, already regretting it.
The regret only deepened when they began bathing her.
It wasn't just a bath—it was an attack on her skin. The maids scrubbed her with such force that her skin burned red, each rough stroke making her flinch.
"That's enough. I can handle the rest myself," she said, trying to take the sponge from one of them, but they ignored her, continuing their merciless treatment.
Her patience thinned. "Hand it over. I'll finish up alone," she repeated, voice lowering to a dangerous edge.
Still, they didn't stop.
That's it.
"GET OUT!" she snapped, making the maids jump. "I said I'll finish myself. Why is that so hard to understand?"
They paled, finally realizing they had pushed her too far.
"Do I have some disease that you have to scrub so hard? Look at my skin—it's red!" she huffed, holding out her arm.
The redness wasn't as bad as she made it seem, but her skin was sensitive, and she had never tolerated discomfort well. She had extremely low tolerance for pain.
The maids quickly scurried out, leaving her blessedly alone. Finally.
After soaking in the fragrant rose-infused water for a few peaceful minutes, she stepped out, fresh and clean, allowing them to resume their work.
At least this time, they were more careful.
Once dressed, she turned to the mirror.
The reflection staring back at her took her breath away.
The icy blue gown shimmered with an ethereal glow, the silver embroidery catching the light with every slight movement. The open-back design left her skin bare, the delicate layers of sheer fabric adding a dreamy, almost surreal elegance. The jewelry, adorned with small, dazzling gems, complemented her silver-white hair perfectly.
She had always known she was beautiful. But this—this was something else.
A goddess.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered—had Rhydian chosen this gown for her? It suited her far too well to be a coincidence.
"Your Highness, we will take our leave," a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Seraphina turned to Irene. "Where is the king?"
"His Majesty did not sleep in the palace last night, and he has yet to return this morning," Irene replied.
Her brows furrowed. He slept outside the palace… on the night before our wedding?
"Alright. You may go," she dismissed them with a wave.
Once they left, she sat on the bed, stomach twisting with hunger. Was she supposed to eat before or after the wedding? She had no idea, but one thing was certain—she couldn't wait much longer.
The gown was heavy, the corset suffocating. She just wanted to get this wedding over with.
Minutes dragged into what felt like hours, and the hunger gnawed at her patience. Finally, she had enough. Rising to her feet, she strode toward the door and pulled it open—
Only to collide with something firm.
A broad, muscular chest.
A deep, intoxicating scent.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She looked up—and froze.
Rhydian.
But something was wrong.
His crimson eyes blazed with a wild, predatory hunger. His fangs had lengthened, sharp and menacing. His expression was unreadable—dangerous.
Before she could react, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back against the wall. A soft gasp escaped her lips at the sudden impact.
"R-Rhydian—"
His head dipped low, his breath hot against her exposed neck.
A deep, guttural hiss escaped his throat.
Then—pain.
His fangs pierced her flesh, sinking deep into her delicate skin.
A choked gasp left her lips, shock mingling with an unexpected heat that surged through her veins. His grip on her tightened as he drank, his body feverishly hot against hers.
She squirmed, pressing her hands against his chest, but he was unmovable—unyielding. His lips latched onto her skin, his tongue flicking over the puncture wounds, sending a shiver straight down her spine.
His body was tense, his breath ragged.
Something wasn't right.
Her mind spun as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.
The spell.
The itching spell.
Her stomach dropped. Oh goodness… I never lifted it.
She had unknowingly left him suffering all night. And now—
Now, he was unraveling.
And she was the only thing he could cling to.