The royal court of Draymore was silent.
Beneath the towering ceilings of the palace, bathed in the golden glow of chandeliers, stood nobles, ministers, and all those who had gathered to witness this forced union. The air was heavy, as if unseen chains had bound everyone in place.
At the center of the grand hall lay an immense, intricately patterned floor of deep henna hues. Upon it, a raised altar had been constructed. Standing before it, clad in a gown of rich crimson, was Seraphina. Gold shimmered against her hands—not a mark of freedom, but of servitude. Delicate golden chains coiled around her wrists, pressing against her skin like a restless bird trapped in its final struggle for flight.
There was no emotion on her face. No fear. No hesitation. Yet inside, her heart thundered. With every breath, she reminded herself of one thing:
"A queen never bows—even in chains."
Then, suddenly, the glass doors swung open with force.
A sharp gust of wind rushed in, making the flames of the chandeliers flicker. And with that gust, a man stepped inside.
Aldric.
The very air inside the palace shifted. The murmurs of the guests ceased instantly. And as he strode toward the altar, each step resonated against the marble floor, as if the very ground acknowledged his presence.
His gait was that of a predator. His demeanor, not of a prince, but of a warlord.
Clad in black battle armor, draped in a deep crimson cloak, he looked like the embodiment of a warrior king. His towering frame only magnified the intensity that surrounded him. His golden eyes held the chilling coldness of a killer—an unrelenting sharpness that always existed between hunter and prey.
Then, his gaze met Seraphina's, and an eerie silence filled the room.
She lifted her eyes to meet his.
A moment. Just a moment.
But in that single moment, everything was said.
Aldric's eyes held a detached indifference, like a man who had come merely to deliver a verdict. Yet, at the corner of his hardened lips, there was something unreadable—a flicker of intrigue, as if he was assessing the steel within this woman. As if, for the first time, he had encountered someone who did not cower before him, but stood her ground.
Seraphina slowly adjusted the silk veil that shimmered like unshed tears. She lifted her chin, gathering every ounce of her strength.
This was not just a wedding. This was not just a bargain.
This was a war.
And to win, she was willing to go to any lengths.
The royal court was deathly silent.
All eyes were locked on the altar, where a grand wedding ceremony was about to take place—but this was no union of love or blessing. This was a mere agreement, a truce built upon the foundation of blood and war.
Seraphina stood exactly where Aldric had inspected her just moments ago. Her heartbeat still thundered in her chest, but not a single crease appeared on her face. Her moonlit features bore an unfamiliar calm, as if the greatest decision of her life was being written without her consent, yet she still possessed the strength to smile.
Aldric stood beside her, close yet distant, his presence as unfeeling as a merciless ruler. His empty gaze was as cold and unyielding as stone, as though he were fulfilling a duty rather than a vow.
The royal officiant stepped forward, signaling the beginning of the ceremony.
"Prince Aldric Draymore, do you take Princess Seraphina Valaeris as your wife?"
The air grew heavier. Seraphina felt as if the entire court had stopped breathing, waiting to hear the prince's answer.
Aldric took a slow breath. Then, in a voice devoid of warmth, he said:
"I take this woman as my wife… for peace."
A faint murmur spread through the hall. Guests exchanged whispers in hushed voices.
Seraphina's fingers curled into fists. Peace? Was this what they called peace? To burn a kingdom to the ground, to slaughter its people, and then imprison its princess, forcing her into a marriage?
Her heart screamed in defiance. But she only inhaled deeply, cooling the fire within, and let an unreadable smile curve on her lips—a smile only she could understand.
Then, the officiant turned to her.
"Princess Seraphina Valaeris, do you take Prince Aldric Draymore as your husband?"
Her lips remained still for a brief moment. Then, in a steady, unwavering voice, she answered:
"I take this man as my husband… for vengeance."
A deafening silence fell over the court.
The air turned ice-cold. Eyes widened in shock, and murmurs turned into stunned stillness as everyone tried to decipher the meaning behind her words. And then, at last, one person moved.
Aldric.
Seraphina felt his golden eyes settle on her, truly seeing her for the first time. As if he was trying to figure out what exactly this woman wanted. But his expression did not twist in anger. There was no fury. No hatred.
Just the faintest smirk.
As if he were saying—"Let's see, then."
The officiant hesitated but continued the ceremony. Aldric reached for her hand, and a glacial chill crept up her fingers. His grip was firm, unyielding. And when he slid the ring onto her finger, the weight of it felt less like a symbol of union and more like a cold, unbreakable shackle.
After sealing the bond, Aldric leaned in.
Close. So close that his breath brushed against her ear.
And then, in a quiet yet razor-sharp voice, he whispered:
"You are not my wife, Seraphina. You are my possession."
Seraphina met his gaze. Not a single flicker of fear crossed her face.
Then, in a soft yet biting tone, she replied:
"Then perhaps you should learn how to take care of your possessions, Prince."
A beat of silence passed.
For the first time, Aldric's jaw tensed.
And that smirk of his—was gone.
Seraphina was escorted to Aldric's chamber under royal custody. Two royal guards flanked her sides, and behind her, the grand court was still abuzz with murmurs, discussing the rebellious fire in her words. A single sentence—just a few words—had been spoken in that hall, but they would be remembered for centuries.
But now, she stood before another battle.
The heavy doors creaked open, and she was pushed inside. The guards shut the door behind her, the weight of the wood echoing like the final clang of a falling chain.
The room… felt like a prison.
Instead of a grand, lavish royal chamber, the space was cold, empty, lifeless. Only a few candles flickered dimly on the walls, leaving one corner drowned in complete darkness. No decorations. No luxury. Just a large throne-like chair, a wardrobe, and a rigid bed.
And in that very darkness, a figure stood.
Aldric.
He was by the window, his silhouette cast upon the floor by the moonlight.
He didn't move—not even the rise and fall of his chest was visible—like a predator fixated on its prey.
"Interesting," Seraphina remarked with a soft smile, masking her unease. "Such a grand chamber, yet it feels as if I've stepped into a prison cell."
Aldric slowly turned his head.
"It's not a prison," his voice was cold. "Just a place where I don't enjoy sharing space with anyone."
Seraphina's sharp gaze locked onto him.
"Then why keep me here?" her voice was calm, probing.
Aldric turned toward her fully, his golden eyes holding the frigid emptiness of a dead man's stare.
"Because you are my wife," he said, his tone devoid of emotion. "And until you fulfill that role, you will remain under my watch."
Seraphina's lips curled into an icy smile.
"Do you remember?" she murmured. "I told you… this is not just a marriage. This is revenge."
Aldric took a slow step toward her.
"Then take your revenge," he said, closing the distance between them. "Hate me. Fear me. But understand one thing, Seraphina."
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her skin.
"I don't want your love. I don't want your loyalty. But there is one thing I will demand from you…"
His hand lifted her chin with a single finger—a touch that felt less like a caress and more like a command.
"…obedience."
A glint flickered in Seraphina's eyes—the kind of glint that appears before a storm.
She gently pushed his finger away, slow and deliberate, with the grace of someone who was born to break chains.
"And if I don't?" her voice was still soft, yet every word carried an unyielding defiance.
Aldric's lips curved into a smirk—a sharp, deadly smirk, like the blade of a finely honed sword.
"Then I will break you."
Silence fell.
Seraphina smiled.
"Is that so?" she stepped closer, tilting her head slightly. "And you're certain… that you can?"
Aldric stilled for a brief moment, studying her.
For the first time, he saw that she wasn't just a rebel.
She was fire. Fire that could very well burn him, too.
Then, in an unexpected move, he stepped back.
Seraphina felt it. That tiny shift. A crack. A seed of doubt.
But Aldric was no ordinary hunter.
He turned away, striding toward the door and shutting it with force.
His final words rang through the chamber:
"Think it over by morning, Seraphina. This war will not be easy for you."
Then, he was gone.
Seraphina stood there for a moment, feeling the air around her—the silent war that had just been waged with nothing but words.
Then, slowly, she reached into her tunic and pulled out a small, gleaming dagger.
She twirled it between her fingers, a meaningless smile on her lips.
And in a hushed voice, she whispered:
"Let's see, Prince… whose revenge is fulfilled first."
Aldric took another step closer.
The air was thick with an unspoken tension, the kind that comes before a storm breaks. The dim glow of the candles cast shadows across his face, making his features appear even more severe, more terrifying under the moonlight's cold embrace.
His shadow fell over Seraphina, but she did not waver.
His voice was icy, yet there was something else in it this time—an emotion buried so deep it was almost impossible to name. A cold, indifferent affection.
"You think this is a game, Seraphina?" Aldric's voice echoed between them. His words were quiet, meant for her ears alone, but the warning in his tone was unmistakable.
Seraphina slowly ran her tongue over her lips, as if savoring the tension between them. Then, a smile curved her lips—a smile that spoke of victory before the battle had even begun.
"No," she said smoothly, her voice like silk weaving through the stillness.
Then, with a slight tilt of her head, her smile deepened.
"This is war."
Aldric's jaw clenched. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, but he did not move. His golden eyes burned with something close to fury, yet there was also a flicker of something else—something that unsettled him.
He hadn't expected that answer.
Seraphina saw it.
She had already won.
Aldric suddenly stepped back. For him, this war had only just begun, but there was something in Seraphina's eyes—a quiet certainty that made him uneasy.
As if she already knew how this battle would end.
And that thought... it disturbed him.
He studied her face for a moment longer, then turned sharply on his heel and walked away. His footsteps echoed through the chamber, each one heavy, decisive.
Then—
"BANG!"
The door slammed shut.
No, not just shut—slammed.
The lock clicked into place, the sound reverberating through the room like a sentence being passed.
Seraphina stood still for a moment.
Then, slowly, another smile curved her lips.
But this time, it was not the smile of rebellion.
It was the smile of someone who was waiting.
Someone who had set a trap.
She turned, walking toward the window, her steps unhurried. Outside, the moonlight bathed the palace in silver, while the towers stood shrouded in shadow.
From her sleeve, she pulled out a dagger.
A small, gleaming blade, so fine and sharp that no one would even feel it slide between their ribs until it was too late.
She twirled it between her fingers, the movement effortless, practiced—like a seasoned hunter testing their arrow before the kill.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:
"Let's see, Prince… whose move is truly stronger?"
Outside, beyond the darkness, a shadow stirred.
A tall, hooded figure moved like a phantom, lingering just out of sight.
A quiet breath.
Then, a voice—low, sharp, carried by the wind.
"She doesn't belong here. She must be removed."
The candlelight flickered against his cloak, and then—
He vanished into the night.