The grand halls of the Delacroix estate buzzed with activity. Golden chandeliers glimmered overhead as servants scurried across marble floors, polishing, dusting, and preparing for the evening's banquet. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax polish, rosewater, and anxiety. Tonight, the Duke of Ravenshade would arrive—an event that stirred both hope and dread in the hearts of the noble household.
In the kitchens, where the scent of roasted duck and glazed tarts wafted up to the ceilings, Seraphine moved briskly between the corridors, balancing a silver tray of fresh linen and crystal goblets. Her honey-brown hair, tied in a modest braid, spilled over one shoulder, and her pale blue servant's dress was speckled with flour and dust from a morning spent scrubbing floors. She looked every bit the maid, though her posture and grace betrayed her noble blood—forgotten, dismissed, and buried deep beneath years of humiliation.
"Careful, girl!" barked Head Maid Brenna, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Do you want to shatter the Duke's goblets before he's even arrived?"
"My apologies," Seraphine murmured, lowering her gaze.
Brenna sneered but moved on. Seraphine released a slow breath and continued her task, her fingers trembling slightly. Every detail had to be perfect. Not for her own sake, of course—never for her. It was all for Celestine.
Celestine, the golden daughter of the Delacroix name. Trained in five languages, the harp, equestrian arts, and diplomacy since she was six. Celestine, who shone like a celestial being in the eyes of their mother, Lady Jane. And Seraphine—who had arrived as an infant with no name and no title, adopted as little more than a living doll to amuse their lonely daughter—was now a blemish upon the house's perfection.
As they had grown, Seraphine's features had sharpened into a startling beauty. High cheekbones, a refined nose, lips like rose petals, and eyes the color of storm-washed lavender. Whispers among visiting ladies had begun to circle. How odd that the maid has the face of a duchess.
Lady Jane had heard those whispers. Since then, Seraphine had been denied lessons, dresses, books, and titles. Her bed was in the servant quarters. Her hands were raw from work. But she never complained.
Not aloud.
She stopped at the foot of the sweeping staircase leading to the ballroom. The sight stole her breath. The banquet hall was a cathedral of opulence—vaulted ceilings with hand-painted frescos, walls draped in crimson and gold velvet, and a table that stretched long enough to seat fifty nobles. Tonight, it would seat the Duke of Ravenshade at the head.
The Duke. A man as elusive as shadow, whose estate bordered the forested edge of the kingdom. Some said he dealt in sorcery. Others whispered he was cursed. Few had seen him clearly; fewer still spoke of him without lowering their voices.
"Seraphine!" a familiar voice called from behind.
She turned, a smile breaking across her face despite the ache in her chest. Carlos stood there, hair tousled, cheeks smudged with soot from the stables. His grin was lopsided, boyish despite the sharp angles of manhood now settling on his face.
"You're glowing," he teased. "Is it the candlelight, or is that sheer exhaustion?"
"A bit of both," she said, nudging him gently. "I've only been preparing a kingdom's worth of silverware."
"While Her Highness Celestine reclines in silk robes, being powdered like a pastry," Carlos said dryly.
"Don't," she whispered. "Someone might hear you."
Carlos leaned in, voice softer. "Let them. You deserve better, Seraphine."
Her eyes darted away, emotions tightening in her throat. Carlos had been her only friend since childhood. The son of her nursemaid Nana Elspeth, he had always defended her when other children sneered, had shared his crusts and stories, and taught her to whistle like a lark to signal danger or freedom.
He touched her arm. "Come with me. Just for a moment. You've done enough."
Seraphine hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, then nodded.
Carlos led her down a quiet hallway and out to the rear gardens, now dim under the bruised sky of twilight. Lanterns flickered to life along the hedges, casting soft light on the winding stone paths and whispering leaves.
"You need to breathe, Seraphine," Carlos said, picking a blossom and tucking it behind her ear.
She gave a soft laugh. "I can't tonight. You know why."
"Yes," he replied grimly. "Because the Duke is coming to pick your sister like a prized hound."
She flinched, but he caught her gaze. "You deserve better than this. You were born for more."
"How could I be?" she whispered. "I was left on their doorstep. I have no name."
"You have more than a name. You have fire. You have kindness. And beauty the stars would envy."
Her breath caught. She turned away, unsure what to do with the warmth blooming in her chest.
Before either could speak again, the sound of a carriage echoed across the stones.
They both froze.
"The Duke," Seraphine said, stepping back.
She ran quickly inside, the flower falling from her hair as she vanished into the shadows of the hallway. Carlos stood alone for a moment longer, jaw clenched.
---
Inside, the estate came to life with urgency. Lady Jane stood at the front entrance with Celestine beside her, radiant in a silk gown the color of spring rain. Her blonde curls were pinned with diamonds, her skin powdered to porcelain perfection. Her smile was rehearsed, poised.
Seraphine watched from the upper landing, clutching a tray she no longer needed. The doors opened.
A chill swept in first. Then the Duke stepped through.
He was tall, dressed in black with silver trim, a velvet coat lined in deep crimson. His presence filled the room—commanding, cold, and unnervingly calm. His eyes, pale gray like winter ice, scanned the room slowly. There was something ancient about him, something wrong and right all at once, as if he didn't belong to this world alone.
Lady Jane curtseyed deeply. "Your Grace. We are honored by your presence."
Celestine followed with a perfect curtsy, eyes fluttering up with calculated innocence. "Welcome to our home."
The Duke nodded but said nothing.
Then, slowly, his gaze lifted. Past the servants. Past Lady Jane. Past Celestine.
To Seraphine.
She froze, heart thundering.
Their eyes met.
It was no ordinary glance. It was a collision. A recognition. As if he saw something in her—knew something. The silver of his gaze did not flinch away.
Lady Jane turned to follow his gaze, her smile faltering when she saw Seraphine at the top of the stairs.
"Seraphine," she snapped. "Return to the kitchens at once!"
Seraphine startled and backed away, nearly tripping on the hem of her skirt. But the Duke raised a hand.
"Wait," he said.
The entire room hushed. His voice was quiet, yet absolute.
Lady Jane blinked. "Your Grace?"
The Duke gestured to Seraphine. "Who is she?"
"She—she is no one, Your Grace. A servant girl," Lady Jane stammered.
Celestine's eyes narrowed.
"She is not a servant," came another voice—clear and strong.
Nana Elspeth had appeared in the doorway, her eyes fierce. "She is your adopted daughter, Lady Jane. You brought her into your home as a child and raised her as your own."
The tension crackled in the air. Seraphine's cheeks burned.
The Duke's gaze never left her. "Bring her to me."
---
Seraphine descended the stairs slowly, heart in her throat. The entire household watched in breathless silence. She reached the foot of the stairs and lowered into a curtsy.
"My Lord," she said, barely audible.
The Duke's eyes moved over her face, as if studying a painting long lost.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Seraphine, Your Grace."
He held out a hand. She hesitated, then placed hers in his. His touch was cool, almost electric.
"I will speak with Lady Jane," he said without breaking eye contact. "But my choice is made."
Lady Jane gasped. Celestine went rigid.
Seraphine stared at him, too stunned to speak. The Duke gave her the faintest bow of his head.
"You are to dine beside me tonight," he said.