The moon hung low in the night sky, its pale light filtering through the tall windows of the Duke's training hall. Shadows stretched long across the cold stone floor, where Seraphina moved with practiced precision. Her daggers gleamed under the dim light as she struck at invisible enemies, her breathing steady but laced with frustration.
The silence was broken only by the rhythmic sound of her steps, the sharp swish of her blades slicing through the air. Her training attire clung to her as she pushed herself harder, her movements growing more aggressive with each passing second.
Suddenly, a metallic clang echoed through the hall.
Seraphina's dagger was deflected mid-swing, sending a sharp vibration up her arm. She spun around, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the figure standing in the shadows.
Kael.
He stepped forward, the soft sound of his boots against the floor eerily calm. In his hand, he held a small pocket knife, its edge glinting like a predator's fang. His gaze, cold and calculating, locked onto hers.
"Still playing with toys, I see," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.
Seraphina's jaw tightened. Without a word, she lunged at him, her daggers flashing in a flurry of strikes. Kael moved effortlessly, deflecting her blows with the flick of his wrist. Each clash of steel echoed through the hall, a testament to the vast gulf in their skills.
With a swift motion, Kael stepped into her guard and knocked one of her daggers from her hand. The blade clattered to the ground, its sound mocking her.
"You're still hopeless," he murmured, his tone almost mocking. "Do you truly believe this is enough to protect yourself?"
Seraphina gritted her teeth, her chest heaving as she stepped back, her remaining dagger raised defensively. "It's better than having blood on my hands," she snapped, her voice edged with defiance.
Kael tilted his head, his dark eyes studying her with a mixture of curiosity and something far more dangerous. "Is that what you tell yourself?" he asked softly, his tone almost gentle. "That this is freedom? A gilded cage is still a cage, Seraphina."
Her grip on the dagger tightened, but her silence spoke volumes.
Kael closed the distance between them in an instant, his movements swift and fluid. He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the second dagger, and brought his face close to hers. "This is the second time," he said quietly, his breath brushing against her skin. "Your guards are woefully inadequate. I walked in here as if I owned the place."
Seraphina's eyes flickered with anger, but she refused to flinch. "What do you want, Kael?"
He didn't answer. Instead, his hand moved to her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, but Seraphina knew better.
Her heart pounded as she felt the cool metal of his knife against her skin, a silent reminder of who he was.
"This," he whispered, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, "is the freedom you chose. But is it truly yours, Seraphina? Or are you still running?"
The words cut deeper than any blade, but she refused to let him see her falter.
In a flash, she snatched a hidden dagger from her belt and slashed at him, the blade aimed for his throat.
Kael moved faster than she could see, leaning effortlessly to the side. Her attack missed by a hair's breadth, and he caught her wrist again, twisting it just enough to make her release the blade.
"You're still too slow," he said with a smirk, his voice low and teasing.
Seraphina glared at him, her chest heaving as she struggled against his grip. "I don't need your pity," she hissed.
Kael's smirk faded, replaced by a look of quiet intensity. "Pity?" he echoed. "No, Seraphina. I don't pity you. I never have."
For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
Kael released her wrist and stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Remember this, Seraphina," he said as he turned toward the exit. "Freedom without power is an illusion. You'll learn that soon enough."
With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone in the silent hall.
Seraphina stood there for a long moment, her hands trembling as she picked up her fallen daggers. She stared at the blades, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't quite grasp.
Is this freedom? she wondered bitterly, the weight of Kael's words pressing down on her like a suffocating fog.
She tightened her grip on the daggers and turned back to the training dummy. If freedom required strength, then she would carve it out with her own hands—no matter what it cost.
*****
The golden rays of dawn barely pierced through the heavy curtains of Seraphina's chambers when the sound of a commotion jolted her awake. Still, in her nightgown, she sat up groggily, her hair disheveled, as the door to her room burst open.
Viviane stormed in, her face twisted in a mask of faux outrage. Alastair followed behind, his expression cold and indifferent, flanked by a handful of servants and guards.
Seraphina froze, her breath catching as her eyes darted between her husband and his mistress. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her voice low and hoarse from sleep.
Viviane didn't hesitate, pointing a manicured finger at her. "You stole my mother's necklace! Admit it!"
Seraphina blinked, momentarily stunned. "What nonsense are you spouting?"
Viviane's lips curled into a smug smile. "If you have nothing to hide, then you won't mind if we search your room." Without waiting for a response, she gestured for the servants to begin.
The sound of drawers being yanked open, fabric being tossed aside, and furniture being shifted filled the room. Seraphina sat motionless on the edge of her bed, her fingers gripping the sheets as her belongings were strewn about like worthless junk.
Her composure remained intact, but her eyes burned with silent fury. "This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.
Alastair stood by the door, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. His silence was deafening, his complicity undeniable.
Finally, Seraphina couldn't bear it any longer. She rose from the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor, and faced him directly. "Isn't this enough for you, Alastair?" she demanded, her voice trembling but firm. "Humiliating me like this? Bringing your mistress and guards into my chambers while I'm barely dressed? Do you have no shame?"
Her words hung in the air, thick with accusation and hurt. For a brief moment, Alastair's gaze faltered, but his expression hardened quickly.
"You brought this upon yourself," he said coldly. "If you've done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear."
Seraphina laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that echoed in the room. "And you think this will make you look like a righteous man?" she snapped. "Dragging men into your wife's chambers at dawn, treating me like a common criminal? Tell me, Alastair, how far are you willing to go to break me?"
The room fell silent, save for the shuffling of servants as they hesitated, sensing the rising tension.
Alastair's face darkened, his hand lifting slightly as though to silence her—or perhaps to strike.
But before his hand could move further, Seraphina caught his wrist mid-air. Her grip was firm, her eyes blazing with defiance. Without hesitation, she raised her other hand and slapped him across the face.
The sharp sound reverberated through the room, and everyone froze.
Viviane gasped audibly, her carefully crafted facade slipping as her eyes widened in shock. She had never imagined Seraphina would dare to strike back.
Alastair's head turned slightly from the force of the slap, but he didn't retaliate. Instead, he stared at Seraphina, his jaw clenched tightly.
"For a husband," Seraphina said, her voice low and cutting, "to bring his mistress and guards into his wife's private chambers, humiliating her in front of servants while she stands in her nightgown—it is you who should feel shame, not me."
The servants shifted uneasily, avoiding eye contact as they realized the gravity of the situation. Even Viviane, for all her bravado, seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
Seraphina stepped closer to Alastair, her chin held high despite the vulnerable state of her attire. "If you think this will break me, you're mistaken. I've endured worse than your petty games, Alastair. And I'll continue to endure, but don't expect me to cower in silence."
She turned her gaze to Viviane, her eyes cold. "You may play the part of the favored one, but you'll always remain what you are—a mistress. No amount of jewels or favors will change that."
Viviane's lips parted, but no words came out. Her confidence wavered, her earlier triumph reduced to ashes in the face of Seraphina's unyielding demeanor.
Seraphina turned her back to them, walking toward the window. "Get out of my chambers," she commanded. "Take your search elsewhere. I won't entertain your childish theatrics any longer."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, Alastair motioned for the servants to leave. They filed out, followed by Viviane, who cast one last venomous glare over her shoulder.
As the door closed behind them, Seraphina exhaled shakily, her composure finally slipping. Her hands trembled slightly, but her resolve remained unbroken.
She walked over to her desk, her eyes scanning the mess that had been made of her belongings. With steady hands, she began to gather the scattered items, her mind already piecing together her next move.
This wasn't over—not by a long shot.