Three years ago.
The palace was alive with the sound of gongs and drums, the air thick with the sounds of celebration and joy.
Guests filled every corner of the grand hall, their laughter and chatter rising to a crescendo as the wedding ceremony unfolded in full grandeur.
But in the side courtyard behind the palace, there was only silence.
A single red wedding banner hung above the door, its color stark against the emptiness of the space. It felt more like an insult than a celebration.
The lavish decoration clashed violently with the quiet, deserted courtyard, a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere just beyond.
Inside the wedding room, Seraphina Evercrest sat alone, her posture regal but her eyes distant, as if her soul had already left her body.
The room was eerily silent save for the occasional pop of a candle burning out in the corner.
She sat, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the Dragon and Phoenix embroidery on the red silk cloth before her.
The noise of celebration seemed a world away, each cheer and clink of glasses only deepening the bitter mockery of her situation.
Her thoughts swirled in confusion, but one truth stood clear: she had once been the beloved daughter of the Duke of Evercrest, a woman admired for both her beauty and her intelligence.
She had once been the future crown princess, destined to marry the man she loved, to rule at his side in the East Palace.
But now? Now she sat here, on her wedding night, as the new concubine of Prince Lysander Celestis—Ghost Prince, the cold and ruthless man who had once been the subject of countless rumors, his name whispered in fear across the capital.
She lifted her hand and slowly pulled the veil away from her face. The bright red silk slipped to the floor, revealing the intricate embroidery of dragons and phoenixes—symbols of a future she never wanted.
Her mind drifted back to that fateful day when she had first met Lysander Celestis—the man who would become her husband. He was a soldier, they said.
His reputation was legendary. It was he who had commanded the slaughter of 3,000 soldiers from Northern Han.
The rumors that followed him painted him as a monster, a cold-hearted killer with no compassion.
And yet, despite everything, he was now her husband.
Seraphina's lips curled into a bitter smile. How ironic, she thought. How truly ironic.
The red veil lay at her feet, and she stared at the intricate designs, her mind struggling to grasp the enormity of her reality. How had things gone so wrong?
A sudden crash startled her, and the door to the wedding room flew open.
Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up to see him standing there, dressed in the bright red groom's robe. His face, handsome and cruel, seemed to gleam with cold light.
She barely had time to react before he strode toward her, his every step filled with unyielding purpose.
His eyes—cold, sharp, and calculating—locked onto hers, and for a moment, she saw nothing but the legend.
The cold, unfeeling warrior who had stolen her future.
Without a word, he stopped before her. His gaze flicked to the veil at her feet, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Why?" he asked, his voice laced with arrogance. "Are you unwilling to marry me, my lady?"
Seraphina took a slow breath, her heart heavy. She wanted to scream, to run, but her body betrayed her.
The man before her was Lysander Celestis, the second prince of the emperor—the man who had become her nightmare.
And he was now her husband.