The ballroom glittered with the opulence of a thousand chandeliers, their golden light spilling over polished marble floors and shimmering off jeweled gowns.
Laughter and the soft clink of glasses filled the air, but for Seraphina, the room might as well have been silent. She stood at the edge of the crowd, her posture impeccably straight, her gloved hands lightly clasped before her. She was a vision of elegance in her silver gown, yet she felt like a ghost haunting a world she no longer belonged to.
Her eyes, a pale, emerald green, flickered over the faces around her, noting every subtle sneer and whispered comment.
"She carries herself like royalty, yet her husband flaunts his mistress," someone whispered, their words carrying just loud enough for her to hear.
"She endures it with such grace," another replied, though the pity in their tone stung more than the malice.
Seraphina's lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. Let them talk. Their words were meaningless, mere echoes in the void of her carefully constructed facade. She had long since learned that silence was her sharpest weapon, one that cut deeper than any retort.
Her gaze shifted, seeking the source of her quiet torment. The source of her discomfort and nausea. Despite thousands and countless people, she slaughters, Alastair managed to make her stomach churn. Is it hard to ask a loyalty from her husband? is it that hard to hope for the same devotion just as she granted?
He stood at the heart of the room, the center of attention as always. His golden hair gleamed under the chandelier's light, his uniform tailored to perfection. He was every bit the war hero, the beloved Duke of Everell, and beside him stood Vivienne, the beautiful thorn in Seraphina's side. The woman clung to Alastair's arm as though she had won a prize, her emerald gown scandalously low and her painted smile oozing triumph.
Seraphina's fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into the soft leather of her gloves. She forced herself to remain still, to keep her expression placid, though her pulse thrummed with a quiet fury.
"How far you've fallen, Alastair," she thought bitterly. He had once been a man of principle, a soldier who stood for honor and justice. Now he was a stranger, a man who allowed his mistress to humiliate his wife in front of the entire kingdom.
"Duchess Everell."
The voice, smooth and low, slipped into her thoughts like a shadow. Her spine stiffened as she turned to face him. The voice that keeps haunting her despite her running away from it. Kael.
He stood a step behind her, clad in dark attire that seemed to absorb the light, his silver hair a stark contrast. His presence was magnetic, and charismatic he always did and her instinct screamed to obey this man.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart.
Kael's lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile. "And yet, here I am." His gaze flicked toward Alastair and Vivienne, then back to her. "I thought you might appreciate a reminder that even if the birds try to flee far away, their owner can find it back."
"I don't need your riddles tonight, Kael," she replied, her tone colder than the snow falling outside.
"And I don't offer riddles without reason," he countered smoothly, stepping closer. His presence was like the storm beyond the windows—dangerous, relentless, and impossible to ignore. "Tell me, Seraphina, how long do you intend to endure this charade?"
Her fingers tightened against her gloves. "As long as necessary," she said.
Kael's dark eyes studied her, unrelenting. "Necessary for what? For them to break you completely? My poor little bird, didn't I tell you, I'm the only one who truly cherishes and loves you."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't let it show. She turned her gaze back to the dancers swirling across the floor. "You mistake my silence for weakness. I've survived worse."
"I don't doubt that," Kael murmured, his voice softer now. "But even you have limits, Seraphina."
She hated how easily he could read her, how his words slipped beneath her defenses like a blade. She refused to let him see the cracks beneath her facade, the weight of the ice threatening to shatter.
Before she could respond, Alastair's voice rang out across the ballroom.
"My dear wife!" he called, lifting his glass with a radiant smile that felt more like a weapon. "Come, join us. The evening feels incomplete without you."
Seraphina could feel the eyes of the entire room turn toward her, their gazes sharp and expectant.
Kael's voice was a murmur, laced with a warning. "Every step you take toward him is another piece of yourself lost."
Ignoring him, she straightened her shoulders and glided toward her husband, her silver gown whispering across the floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though she were wading through the snow outside.
When she reached Alastair's side, Vivienne's lips curved into a smirk, her hand tightening possessively around his arm.
"Your Grace," Vivienne said sweetly, her voice like honey laced with poison.
Seraphina met her gaze with a cool, detached smile. "Vivienne." Her tone was perfectly polite, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.
The tension between the three of them was high, a clash of unspoken words and hidden daggers.
Kael lingered at the edge of the room, his eyes never leaving Seraphina. He was a shadow amidst the light, a silent promise of chaos yet to come.
As the music swelled and the dancers twirled, Seraphina stood amidst the glittering facade of the ballroom, her heart weighed down by the knowledge that the cracks beneath the ice were spreading.
Soon, the entire world would shatter.
*****
The cold moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting pale, jagged shapes across the walls of Seraphina's bedroom. The silence of the night was suffocating, yet her mind was trapped in chaos.
In her dream, the smell of blood was overwhelming. It clung to the air, metallic and sharp. She could see her mother's trembling hands clutching her chest, her lips mouthing silent words. Seraphina, only thirteen, had screamed for her to run, but the room was too small, the shadows too thick.
Then came Kael—fifteen years old, his black hair streaked with grey, his dark eyes emotionless as he drove the blade into her mother's heart.
"Why?" Seraphina had cried, tears blurring her vision. But Kael had only stared at her, his voice chilling in its calmness.
"Because she was in the way."
Seraphina woke with a gasp, her throat raw from a scream that hadn't fully escaped. Her hands trembled as she clutched the blankets, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. It wasn't the first time she had relived that day, but each time, the wound reopened fresh and bleeding.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, willing herself to calm down. The servants couldn't see her like this, trembling and vulnerable. They already whispered about the Duchess of Everell, the silent, stoic woman who endured humiliation with grace. She couldn't give them more reason to pity her.
The heavy weight of her past clung to her like a shroud as she slipped from the bed, careful not to make a sound. Her bare feet met the cold marble floor, and she instinctively wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The quiet of the hallway was comforting, a sharp contrast to the storm raging within her mind.
She stepped out into the corridor, the dim light of the wall sconces guiding her steps. She needed fresh air, space to breathe, to forget.
But as she turned a corner, the faint murmur of voices reached her ears.
"You shouldn't be here," Alastair's voice, low and intimate, sent a chill down her spine.
"Why not? You've never sent me away before," Vivienne replied, her tone laced with mockery.
Seraphina froze, her stomach twisting. She hadn't expected them to be awake, much less together. Slowly, she moved closer, her steps as silent as a shadow.
There they were, illuminated by the flickering light of a distant sconce. Alastair stood with his back to her, his hair disheveled, his loose shirt open at the collar. Vivienne leaned against him, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his chest, her lips curved in a triumphant smile.
Seraphina watched as they kissed, the intimacy of it a dagger twisting in her chest. Not because she loved Alastair—she had long since stopped pretending that love existed between them—but because it was a reminder of the mockery her life had become.
She took a slow, steady breath, willing the surge of bitterness to subside. This wasn't worth her anger. Not tonight.
Without a word, she stepped forward, her presence finally catching their attention. Alastair turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. For a moment, he looked almost guilty, but the expression quickly faded, replaced by indifference.
"Seraphina," he said, his tone even, as though she had caught him in the middle of an ordinary conversation. "Why are you awake at this hour?"
She met his gaze with icy detachment, her expression unreadable. "I couldn't sleep,"
Vivienne smirked, draping herself against Alastair as though to stake her claim. "You should try warm milk, Your Grace. It works wonders for restlessness."
Seraphina's gaze flicked to Vivienne, her eyes cold enough to freeze the air between them. "Perhaps you should take your advice," she said softly, her voice devoid of warmth. "You look rather tired yourself."
Vivienne's smirk faltered, but Seraphina had already turned away, her steps measured and calm.
"Seraphina—" Alastair began, but she didn't stop.
"I don't have time for this nonsense," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
The hallway stretched endlessly before her, and for a moment, she felt as though she were walking through a dream. The past and present blurred, Kael's cold stare merging with Alastair's indifferent gaze, her mother's dying breath echoing alongside Vivienne's mocking laughter.