The royal banquet hall shimmered with golden light, chandeliers ablaze, music echoing softly in the background. Nobles clinked glasses, exchanged false smiles, and whispered venom behind painted fans. It was the perfect scene for a predator to wear the skin of a lamb.
And tonight, Seraphina wore her mask better than anyone else.
Her silver gown hugged her like moonlight, but it was her eyes that drew attention. Not for their beauty, but for their silence—unreadable, cold, distant. The perfect illusion of a princess grateful to be home.
She stood beside Queen Isolde, who looped an arm around hers with artificial affection. "You must be so overwhelmed, dear. So many familiar faces," the queen cooed.
Seraphina's lips curled slightly. "Yes. Some I remember fondly. Others I wish I could forget."
Isolde's fingers tightened for a breath. "Let's not speak of the past, child. This is your fresh beginning."
The words felt like thorns pressed into Seraphina's skin. A fresh beginning—after being discarded like a mistake, hunted like an animal, her mother poisoned, her birth erased. And now this same woman dared to call her child?
But Seraphina only smiled. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Across the room, Kael stood like a shadow, dressed in deep emerald velvet that made his eyes darker, harder. His gaze never left Seraphina. He had seen her maneuver through the nobles like a ghost in the wind. Polite. Perfect. But he knew her truths ran deeper than any mask.
He had once known her as Elara, the girl with ash in her hair and fire in her veins. She wasn't a princess then. She was a storm.
Now she was royalty—and still a storm.
A lord approached Seraphina, bowing too low. "Your Highness, you've returned more stunning than ever. I was so sorry to hear about your late mother."
"Were you?" Her voice was gentle.
The man's face faltered. "Of course, I—"
"You served on the council that denied her protection."
He stammered. "That was—politics. Not personal."
"But I was a child." She leaned in closer. "You let politics decide whether I lived or died."
Silence.
Then Seraphina straightened, her smile back in place. "But as the queen said, let's not speak of the past."
The man scurried away.
Kael's lip twitched in something close to admiration.
Later that night, as the guests filed out and the music quieted, Seraphina found herself alone in the palace garden. The air smelled of lilac and frost. She sat beneath the obsidian lion statue—her father's favorite symbol—and stared at the stars she used to name as a girl.
"You're playing a dangerous game," came Kael's voice from behind her.
She didn't turn. "Then why are you watching instead of stopping me?"
"I haven't decided whose side I'm on."
She glanced back, sharp. "Then you're already a weapon waiting to be used."
Kael approached, standing beside the lion's paws. "They think you're weak. That's why they let you return."
"They let me?" Her voice turned colder. "No, Kael. They summoned me back because they thought I'd kneel. They don't realize I've already buried half of who I used to be."
He studied her. "You're not the same girl I trained in the mountains."
"No. She died the night my mother did."
They were silent for a beat.
Kael knelt before her—not in deference, but in confrontation. "Tell me what you're planning, Seraphina."
She leaned forward. "Revenge isn't an event, Kael. It's a process. It's rot spreading in the walls while everyone praises the paint."
He frowned. "And you're the rot?"
"No." Her gaze was merciless. "I'm the fire that follows."
---
Inside the palace, Queen Isolde stood before a mirror, removing her heavy crown. Her reflection stared back—beautiful, cruel, aging. A knock echoed behind her.
"Come."
A hooded figure entered. "She's more dangerous than expected."
"She's still my husband's blood," the queen murmured. "And blood must be controlled—or spilled."
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