The cold night air carried with it a bitter reminder of Alaric's failures. He walked through the dense forest, his boots crunching against the frost-bitten leaves. Every step seemed heavier, weighed down by the burden of Seraphina's words. They echoed in his mind, each syllable a sharp dagger. She had admitted her feelings for him—a fleeting hope that had ignited in his chest—but her refusal to act on them had extinguished that fire just as quickly.
As the moonlight poured through the skeletal branches, Alaric leaned against a gnarled oak, the bark pressing uncomfortably against his back. He tilted his head skyward, staring at the fractured light filtering through the trees.
"She said it can't be," he muttered bitterly to himself. His voice was swallowed by the vast emptiness of the night. "Why not? Is love so powerless?"
His hands curled into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain. The injustice of it all burned in his chest—a fire fueled by years of enduring the inequities of a world where titles and wealth dictated one's worth. He had fought so hard to claw his way into her life, to prove himself. Yet, despite all his efforts, the world reminded him of its immutable rules. Love, it seemed, was not enough to cross the chasm between their stations.
The estate was alive with festivity. The grand hall glowed with the warmth of countless chandeliers, their light reflecting off the polished floors and the glittering jewels of the nobility. Laughter and music filled the air, an orchestra weaving a symphony that seemed to mock the discord in Seraphina's heart. She sat at the head table, her posture poised, her expression unreadable. Her gown sparkled under the light, but to her, it felt more like a shroud.
The prince sat beside her, his every move deliberate, calculated. His charm was a mask that hid the cold ambition behind his eyes. He leaned closer to her, his voice smooth yet hollow.
"Seraphina, you've barely touched your wine," he said, his smile practiced. "Are you unwell?"
She forced herself to meet his gaze, summoning a smile of her own. "Not at all, Your Highness. The evening has simply been… overwhelming."
He chuckled softly, his tone tinged with condescension. "You'll grow accustomed to it. After all, this is the life you've been chosen for."
His words felt like chains wrapping around her, tightening with every breath. She lowered her gaze to the goblet before her, staring at her distorted reflection. In it, she saw a woman she barely recognized—a shadow of the girl she once was. Her dreams, her passions, all sacrificed for the sake of duty.
Alaric's return to the village was marked by silence. The streets were dark, save for the faint glow of lanterns in a few windows. The feast had drawn most of the villagers to the estate, leaving the small cottages eerily quiet. He slipped into his family's modest home, careful not to wake anyone.
Bram, his younger brother, stirred as Alaric entered their shared room. The boy's sleepy eyes blinked open, confusion flickering across his face.
"You're back late," Bram said, his voice thick with drowsiness. "Did something happen?"
Alaric shook his head, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. "Nothing worth mentioning."
Bram sat up, his concern evident. "You've been different lately. You barely talk to anyone anymore. If something's wrong, you can tell me."
For a moment, Alaric considered confiding in him. But what good would it do? Bram was too young to carry such burdens.
"It's nothing," Alaric said, forcing a smile. "Get some sleep, Bram."
Reluctantly, Bram lay back down, though his furrowed brow betrayed his lingering worry. As his breathing evened out, Alaric stared at the small wooden cross above the door, his mind racing. He couldn't let this be the end. Seraphina was worth fighting for, even if the odds were stacked against him. But how could he—a mere commoner—overcome the insurmountable barriers between them? The question gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his inadequacy.
As the final notes of the orchestra faded, signaling the end of the feast, Seraphina found herself wandering the estate's gardens. The cool air was a welcome reprieve from the suffocating grandeur of the hall. She walked aimlessly, the soft rustle of her gown blending with the gentle murmur of the nearby fountain.
Her thoughts were a tangled web of longing and resignation. She had seen the fire in Alaric's eyes, the unyielding determination that both inspired and terrified her. He was everything the prince was not—raw, genuine, alive. But that was precisely why they could never be. The world would crush them both for daring to defy its rules.
The sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see the prince approaching, his expression unreadable. He stopped a few paces away, his hands clasped behind his back.
"You disappeared," he said, his tone mild but laced with an undercurrent of disapproval.
"I needed some air," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.
He studied her for a moment, his gaze penetrating. "You're troubled. Is it the engagement?"
"It's… a significant change," she admitted, choosing her words carefully. "I'm still adjusting."
He nodded, his expression softening in a way that felt rehearsed. "I understand. It's a great responsibility, but I have faith in you, Seraphina. Together, we will shape a better future."
His words should have been comforting, but they felt like a noose tightening around her neck. She forced a smile, nodding in agreement. "Of course."
The prince stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers. "You're not alone in this. Remember that."
She looked up at him, her heart heavy with unspoken truths. "Thank you, Your Highness."
As he turned and walked away, Seraphina felt a tear slip down her cheek. Somewhere out there, Alaric was fighting for a dream she could not afford to share. And in the depths of her heart, she knew that their paths, though intertwined by fate, were destined to end in tragedy.
A sharp breeze swept through the garden, carrying with it a faint echo of laughter from the grand hall. Seraphina stood there, alone under the moonlight, wondering how long she could endure the weight of a life that was never truly hers. The night stretched on, its silence broken only by the distant howl of a lone wolf—a sound that seemed to mirror the anguish of her soul.