The days after the broken mirror were heavy with silence. Seraphina wrapped her hand in silk bandages, hiding the angry line of bruises blooming across her knuckles. Marcelline fussed, tried to coax her into meals, into laughter, into anything resembling the sister she had once known. But Seraphina moved through the house like a wraith, the echo of shattering glass following her into every room.
Outside, the world sharpened its teeth.
Every errand became a gauntlet of whispers. If she paused too long at the bakery, she heard the cluck of tongues, the hiss of "that poor Vale girl." If she lingered near the market, voices dropped into conspiratorial tones: "Kaelen Armand, they say. He's sniffing around already." Each word clawed under her skin until her chest ached with the weight of them.
Marcelline fought for her. More than once, Seraphina returned home to hear her sister's raised voice defending her honor in the parlor, silencing relatives or neighbors who came under the guise of sympathy. But there was only so much one voice could do against an entire city of wagging tongues.
One afternoon, desperate for air, Seraphina ventured out with her hat pulled low. She walked quickly, clutching her shawl around her shoulders, willing herself to be invisible. The cobblestones rang beneath her heels, her pulse louder still.
At the corner near the apothecary, two women barred her path, eyes bright with cruel delight.
"Such nerve, to show her face again," one whispered loudly enough for Seraphina to hear.
"She should be grateful Marrick spared her the trouble of binding herself to a liar," the other said. "Or perhaps she knew all along. Perhaps she liked sharing."
Their laughter struck her harder than any blow. She froze, stomach twisting, the urge to vanish into the stones beneath her feet almost unbearable.
"Enough."
The voice came from behind, low and cutting, silencing the air like the snap of a blade.
Kaelen Armand stepped forward, his coat black as ink, his eyes glinting like tempered steel. He didn't look at Seraphina; his gaze pinned the women where they stood.
"You mistake malice for wit," he said, his tone quiet, almost bored. "It makes you look smaller than you already are."
The women faltered, shifting under the weight of his stare. One attempted a retort, but Kaelen's mouth curved into something resembling a smile — sharp, humorless. The words died in her throat. They backed away, muttering apologies that weren't meant for Seraphina at all.
Kaelen turned to her at last. "Come."
She hated that her legs obeyed before her mind caught up. He led her down a quieter street, away from the eyes and whispers, his stride steady, hers faltering in confusion. When they reached the shadow of an old stone wall, he stopped.
"You shouldn't be walking alone," he said simply.
Seraphina's hands clenched in her shawl. "I don't need your protection."
"No," he agreed, his gaze steady on hers. "But you want it."
Her breath caught. She wanted to protest, to spit the denial with all the fire left in her, but his eyes seemed to see through the words she hadn't spoken.
"You let them define you," Kaelen continued, softer now, almost coaxing. "Lucian's betrayal. The crowd's whispers. You shrink smaller with each rumor, each glance." He tilted his head, his voice dropping. "You were not made to be small."
Her heart thudded painfully. She hated him for knowing where to press, hated the way his words slid beneath her defenses. "And what?" she whispered. "You would have me be… what? Your prize?"
He smiled faintly. "Not mine. Yours. To own yourself again. To look at them and watch them tremble."
Something in her chest cracked. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, that she wanted none of this. And yet the image flared in her mind: standing tall, untouchable, the whispers dying in throats as she passed.
She shook her head sharply. "You twist everything."
"Perhaps," Kaelen said. He reached for her hand; the uninjured one and lifted it slowly, deliberately. His thumb brushed against her knuckles, light but lingering, the touch more question than demand. "But I never lie."
Her body betrayed her. Heat surged through her arm at the contact, her breath trembling as though her own pulse belonged to him. For a heartbeat, she didn't pull away.
Then, with a ragged exhale, she snatched her hand back. "Don't." Her voice cracked.
Kaelen studied her, unreadable, then inclined his head. "As you wish." He stepped back, the shadow between them lengthening. "But know this, I will not vanish like the rest of them. You may run, Seraphina, but I will always be where the whispers are loudest."
With that, he turned and left her in the quiet street, the echo of his footsteps folding into the city's hum.
She stood trembling, clutching her shawl as though it were the only thing tethering her to the earth.
When she finally returned home, Marcelline greeted her with questions, but Seraphina brushed past without answering. Upstairs, in the solitude of her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, her heart still racing. She pressed her hand to her lips, as though she could wipe away the memory of his touch, but it lingered, vivid as flame.
That night, she dreamt of him. Not Lucian, not the vows that had shattered, but Kaelen; his hand on hers, his voice in the dark. She woke with his name unspoken on her lips, shame flooding her chest.
She whispered Lucian's name into the empty room, but it sounded weaker than before, fading like an echo swallowed by silence.