Seraphina had not stepped beyond her room in three days.
The curtains hung heavy and closed, sealing out the world, though faint rays of light managed to creep in, cutting the chamber into slices of shadow. She lay curled on her bed, still in yesterday's dress, the sheets twisted around her legs. Her body ached with hunger, but she could not bring herself to lift a spoon. She stared at the ceiling until it blurred, her mind circling the same images again and again: Lucian's mouth pressed to Isolde's throat, Kaelen's voice murmuring like a promise in the rain.
Marcelline came and went, pleading softly at first, then sternly. "You'll wither away, Sera. You'll make yourself ill." She tried to set trays beside the bed, each one untouched until it grew cold and was carried off again. On the third evening, Marcelline stood at the foot of the bed, hands balled into fists.
"This isn't you," she said fiercely. "I won't watch you destroy yourself because of them. Eat. Walk. Do something. You're letting their betrayal finish what it started."
Seraphina pulled the blanket over her head, her voice muffled. "Leave me."
Her sister's silence lasted so long she thought Marcelline had obeyed. But then the door clicked shut harder than usual, a note of anger hidden inside it. Seraphina flinched and buried her face deeper in the pillow.
Her body trembled, not from cold but from something rawer, a restlessness she could neither soothe nor expel. Sometimes, in the silence, she whispered aloud, as though she were speaking to the shards of herself scattered across the floor. "You were supposed to be loved. You were supposed to belong. But what are you now? Nothing. A spectacle. A fool."
Her own voice frightened her.
When the summons came, she almost ignored it. Vivienne had sent a messenger, requesting her attendance at a small gathering of colleagues and acquaintances. The note was phrased politely, but beneath it was steel: Appear, or risk more than your pride. Seraphina knew what Vivienne meant. Work, reputation, independence — the fragile threads of her livelihood dangled in her employer's hand.
So she dressed. Slowly, mechanically. A gown of pale blue silk that once made her feel luminous now hung like borrowed skin. She pinned her hair with shaking fingers, added a touch of powder to hide the shadows beneath her eyes. When she caught her reflection, she almost laughed. It was a mask, nothing more.
The gathering was held in Vivienne's salon, a room of mirrors and gold trim that seemed designed to reflect every gaze, every whispered word. Seraphina stood near the wall, clutching a glass of watered wine, her smile brittle. Conversations swirled around her. Laughter rose and fell. And though no one spoke directly, she could feel the shift when she passed, the way eyes slid over her with too much curiosity, too much pity.
It did not take long.
Two men near the hearth, voices low but not low enough: "I hear Marrick begged her forgiveness on his knees. Quite the show."
"Pity she didn't know what kind of man he was sooner. Then again…" A glance at her, a smirk. "…perhaps she did."
Their laughter stabbed through her composure.
Seraphina set her glass down, hard enough that the rim cracked. "Enough." Her voice rang sharper than she intended, silencing the nearest conversations. Dozens of eyes turned toward her, wide and gleaming.
She wanted to stop, but her fury surged. "You speak as though I am not standing here. As though my life is some… performance for your amusement. Do you think betrayal is a jest? Do you think humiliation makes me less human?" Her voice shook, but she raised it anyway. "Say it to my face, if you dare!"
The silence was crushing. Then came the titter of laughter; brittle, embarrassed, cruel. Heat burned up her neck, her cheeks, until her vision blurred. She could not breathe. Without another word, she turned and fled.
The night air struck her like a slap. She ran without direction, heels clattering against cobblestones, silk skirts tangling at her legs. The city blurred past, lamps smearing into streaks of gold and shadow. She did not care where she went, only that it was away, away from those eyes, those whispers.
At last, her strength gave way. She stumbled into a narrow street, chest heaving, hands trembling. She pressed her back against a wall and slid down, her gown gathering dust and grime as she clutched her knees to her chest. Her breath came in broken sobs.
"You'll freeze if you stay there."
Her head jerked up. Kaelen stood at the mouth of the alley, framed by the lamplight. His presence was so sudden, so solid, that for a moment she thought she had conjured him. He approached slowly, boots soundless on the stones.
"How" Her voice broke. "Why are you here?"
He crouched before her, his eyes level with hers, steady, unflinching. "Because you were always going to run. And someone had to find you."
Her chest ached. "You shouldn't!"
He reached out, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek, where tears still clung. The touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent a shiver through her entire body. "Let me carry this with you," he said softly.
She shook her head, trying to pull back, but the wall was firm behind her. "I don't want"
"Yes, you do." His voice was calm, certain. "You want someone who doesn't flinch at your tears, who doesn't pity you, who doesn't lie. I won't lie to you, Seraphina. I never have."
Her lips trembled. She wanted to scream at him, to strike him, to tell him he was wrong. But the words tangled in her throat, because some part of her knew he was right.
"The world will eat you alive if you let it," Kaelen murmured. "But I won't let it. Not if you let me in."
Her eyes burned. Her hands, trembling, lifted as though to push him away but instead they hovered between them, uncertain, desperate.
For one dangerous heartbeat, she leaned forward. The distance between them narrowed until she could feel the warmth of his breath, the steadiness of his presence.
Then, with a gasp, she tore herself away. "No." She scrambled to her feet, shaking, her back pressed to the wall. "I can't"
Kaelen rose with her, his expression unreadable. He did not reach for her again, but his gaze pinned her in place. "You will," he said quietly. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But soon."
Her pulse thundered. She wanted to run again, but her legs would not move.
He took a step back, giving her space, his eyes still locked on hers. "Go home. Sleep. And when you dream, ask yourself which voice lingers. Lucian's… or mine."
Then he turned and walked away, his figure swallowed by shadow.
Seraphina stumbled home in a daze. At the door, Marcelline's worried face appeared, but Seraphina brushed past her without a word. She shut herself in her room, her chest heaving.
She leaned against the door, sliding down until she sat on the floor, her head in her hands. Lucian's name hovered on her lips, but when she tried to whisper it, the syllables came out weak, empty.
What echoed instead, unbidden, was Kaelen's voice: steady, unyielding, dangerous.
And her heart, traitorous and wild, beat faster for it.