~Serah POV~
The bells of the Crimson Court tolled, slow and heavy, echoing across the marble hall. Every sound seemed to mock me because each note reminded me I wasn't walking into a marriage of love, but into a cage.
"Raise your hand," the priest commanded his voice boomed.
My fingers trembled as I lifted them. The silk sleeves of my gown slipped back, revealing pale skin I had powdered to perfection. It didn't matter, no one was looking at me, not even Lord Jethro Veylen, my husband-to-be and my master.
He stood tall beside me, draped in his dark ceremonial robes, eyes glowing faintly red under the chandeliers.
He was everything a vampire lord should be... handsome, powerful, terrifying and yet, at that moment, he may as well have been a statue carved of ice.
His gaze wasn't on me, not even once, but instead, it was fixed on her. My stepsister, Lydia, who was sitting in the front row, dressed more elegantly than the bride, black velvet clung to her figure, and her lips curled in a smirk that sent fire crawling up my throat.
The priest's words blurred until I only caught fragments. "Do you take this woman as your lawful bride?"
"I do," Jethro said, flat as stone.
A ripple of whispers passed through the hall and I tried to smile, tried to tell myself at least he'd said the words, then I heard his voice again, lower, not meant for me.
"It changes nothing," he murmured, lips curving almost tenderly toward Lydia.
My chest tightened and blood drained from my face because he wasn't even trying to hide it.
The priest turned to me. "And do you, Lady Serah Duskbane, take this man..."
"I… I do." My voice cracked. I forced the words out, though they tasted like ash on my tongue.
The priest smiled softly, lifting his hands. "By the ancient covenant, you are now bound as husband and wife."
I braced myself, waiting for Jethro's hand, a touch or kiss, but none came.
Instead, Jethro bent his head toward me from the outside. It must have looked intimate, husband and wife sharing private words, but his whisper was a blade.
"You're nothing but trash, Serah, because this union is politics, so don't confuse it for love."
The court erupted in quiet laughter. Some didn't even bother to hide it meanwhile Lydia covered her mouth, feigning shock, though amusement danced in her eyes.
My fingers curled around my gown, nails digging through silk I wanted to disappear, but I forced myself to stand taller because if I crumbled now, they would all see it.
"Smile, dear," Lydia called sweetly from her seat. "A bride should look happy."
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Of course." My lips curved into a fake smile.
The ceremony ended in applause, hollow and cruel and Jethro didn't spare me a glance. Instead, he descended the steps, and when his hand finally extended it wasn't for me, it was for Lydia.
Lydia rose gracefully, slipping her hand into his as though she were the true bride, which made the crowd whisper again, some even smirked, some pitied, most simply watched, eager for scandal. I stood there, alone at the altar, bound in name but discarded in truth.
Hours later, I sat in the bridal chamber that wasn't mine at least. It didn't feel like the room was cold, the walls high and bare with candles burning low, their smoke filling the silence.
Then the door opened, my heart leaped, foolish hope sparking that maybe he'd come, even if only to fulfill duty. Jethro entered, tall and commanding, shadows clinging to him like loyal servants.
I rose quickly. "My lord..."
"Don't," he cut in, his voice was sharp.
I froze. "I thought—"
"You thought wrong." He didn't even sit. He stood at the door as if reluctant to step further inside. "I won't touch you because this marriage is a contract, nothing more. You will play your role when the council demands it, but outside that, stay out of my sight!"
His words hit harder than any slap. "So that's it? I'm your wife, but you treat me as… nothing?"
He looked at me then, briefly, eyes glowing like fire in the dark, I mean cold fire. "Even nothing is generous, so you're a burden, one I'm forced to carry!"
I stepped back, my chest aching. "Jethro, I don't—"
He raised a hand, silencing me. "Understand this, Serah, whatever you imagine this marriage to be, it isn't because my heart belongs to another." His gaze shifted, lingering somewhere beyond me, and I knew exactly where. "Your stepsister, Lydia, is everything you are not! She's graceful, strong, and worthy."
The air rushed out of my lungs. "You bring her name into our wedding bed?"
"It was never yours," he replied coldly. "Accept your place and spare yourself more humiliation."
I swallowed hard, words clawing my throat, but none escaped.
He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "If you want survival, stay silent, if you want dignity, forget love, and if you want more…" His lips curved, bitter. "Don't even think about it!"
The door closed with finality. I collapsed onto the bed, silk sheets pooling around me like a coffin and tears pricked, but I bit them back because no one would see me break, so from that night on, I wasn't a bride. I was a ghost, bound to a man who had already erased me.
Later, muffled voices drifted through the corridor as I moved to the door, pressing my ear against it.
"You were perfect tonight," Jethro's voice murmured.
Lydia giggled softly. "And she? Did she believe it?"
"She believes whatever she's told," he said with disdain. "She won't last long around me."
"Then why marry her at all?"
"The council demanded it. I never loved her, it's just a union of bloodlines." His tone grew sharp. "But in my heart, Lydia, you are the only one and will always be."
My hand fell from the door, shaking and their laughter followed me back to the bed, sinking into my bones.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of vows that already meant nothing pressing down like chains, so this was my wedding night?