The weight of her despair pressed down on her like a suffocating mountain, the small spark of hope in her heart extinguishing with every cruel action of his.
In her mind, the face of Leander Celestis flashed, guilt and warmth in his eyes.
"Seraphina," he had said gently, "I'm sorry. The rumors... they've spread throughout the capital. My parents will not approve of our marriage. You... you should be with my second brother. He'll treat you better than I could."
His words replayed in her mind: "Lysander... he's cold on the outside but warm on the inside. He said himself that he liked you. It's rare for a proud man like him to feel that way for a woman."
She had wanted to argue, wanted to scream that it wasn't true. Lysander didn't care for her, not in the way he claimed.
Everything he said was a lie. But now, as she looked at the man who had once been like a pure lily, gentle and sincere, she realized it was all gone.
His back turned, his once-gentle demeanor now just a shadow. No more hope. No more warmth.
Perhaps, she thought bitterly, it had always been a dream. Such a beautiful man could never have been hers.
She, Seraphina Evercrest, the daughter of the former queen, Gwyneth Evercrest, had been scorned and betrayed by everyone in the capital.
"What are you thinking about?" Lysander snapped, his grip tightening on her delicate neck, pulling her from her thoughts.
Seraphina's eyes flew open, filled with pain and hatred. Fate had led her to this moment, and she had nothing left to say.
"Wondering if Leander will come to your rescue?" His voice was close to her ear, his breath hot against her trembling lips.
The air between them was thick with tension–his proximity intoxicating yet repulsive.
Seraphina felt nothing but disgust.
She met his gaze coldly, her lips pressed together tightly.
Her eyes, once full of softness, now burned with an intensity that startled Lysander.
They were not the eyes of a timid, powerless woman.
For a moment, doubt flickered in his chest. But he quickly dismissed it, sneering. "Don't even think about it. Leander, that weakling, will never come to save you. He's nothing more than a flower nurtured by that witch, the Queen. He's good for nothing but reciting poetry and writing couplets. He's too polite to raise a sword, too scared to do anything. How could he possibly avenge you?"
Lysander's hands tightened further around her throat, the pressure building slowly, as if he were willing to snap her neck at any moment.
Seraphina, struggling for breath, forced the words out through a rasping voice: "But... he is... better than you! He will always be... a noble prince! And you... you're just... a son abandoned by the emperor."
Her words struck him like a blow. Lysander's pupils contracted, and his whole body tensed.
The oppressive aura that surrounded him grew darker, bloodlust radiating from him as his hands tightened, choking the last bit of life from her.
"You think you can provoke me with your words?" He sneered, watching her slowly suffocate. "Do you think you're in a position to speak? Do you believe it? This night will be your last. By this time next year, no one will even remember your name."
Seraphina's vision began to fade, her body going limp.
The red glow from the dragon and phoenix candles flickered in the dim room, their light reflecting off the blood-red decorations that adorned the space.
The word "happiness" seemed like an ironic mockery, twisted by the cruelty of the moment.
As her vision blurred and her consciousness slipped away, she closed her eyes one last time.
All she could see was the blood-red light, the last reflection of her shattered hopes, before she was swallowed by the abyss.