Seraphina's POV
I couldn't stop shaking.
The healers had left an hour ago. The servants had changed me into a soft nightgown and disappeared without a word. Now I sat alone in the massive empress's chambers, waiting for the ghost to come back and finish what she'd started.
Every shadow looked like Elara's veil. Every creak sounded like her whisper.
I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, trying to make myself smaller. The bed was enormous—big enough for five people—but I huddled in the center like it could protect me.
It couldn't.
Nothing could protect me from a ghost who'd killed seventeen women.
The golden light that had exploded from me in the throne room—what was that? I'd never done magic before. I'd never even felt magic before. Yet somehow, I'd pushed back a vengeful spirit with nothing but... what? Fear? Desperation?
I looked at my hands, willing them to glow again.
Nothing happened.
"Come on," I whispered. "Do it again. Light up. Protect me."
Still nothing.
Great. One burst of magic when I was about to die, and now nothing. Typical.
A soft knock made me jump so hard I nearly fell off the bed.
"Who's there?" My voice came out high and scared.
"It's just me, dear." An old woman pushed the door open, carrying a tray. She had kind eyes and gray hair pulled back in a bun. "I brought you tea. Thought you might need it after... well, after everything."
She set the tray on the table beside the bed. Steam rose from the cup, smelling like honey and something else—something calming.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
The old woman smiled. "I'm Mira. I've served in this palace for sixty years. Seen a lot of empresses come and go." Her smile faded. "Most don't last long enough for me to learn their names."
"That's not comforting."
"Wasn't meant to be comforting. Was meant to be honest." She poured the tea. "But you're different from the others. You fought back tonight. That's new."
"I didn't mean to. The light just... happened."
"Magic doesn't 'just happen,' dear. It comes from somewhere deep inside." Mira handed me the cup. "Drink. It'll help you sleep."
I took a sip. The warmth spread through me, easing the knots in my stomach. "Will she come back tonight? Elara?"
"The wards on these chambers should hold her off until morning." Mira patted my hand. "But tomorrow at the wedding... that's when things get dangerous."
"The Emperor said we have to go through with it."
"Of course he did. He's stubborn like that. Thinks he can control everything." Mira moved toward the door. "But between you and me? I haven't seen His Majesty care about keeping someone alive in three hundred years. So maybe you've got a chance the others didn't."
She left before I could ask what she meant.
I drank the rest of the tea and lay down, pulling the thick blankets up to my chin. Sleep felt impossible, but my eyes grew heavy anyway. Whatever was in that tea was strong.
As I drifted off, I thought I heard humming—a woman's voice, sad and distant. But when I forced my eyes open, the room was empty.
I woke to sunlight streaming through windows I didn't remember being there last night.
My body felt stiff, like I'd been asleep for days instead of hours. I sat up slowly, and that's when I saw her.
A woman sat in the chair beside my bed, watching me.
Not Elara. This woman was younger, with dark hair and bright eyes. She wore simple servant's clothes, but something about her felt... wrong.
"You're finally awake," she said cheerfully. "I was starting to worry the tea was too strong."
"Who are you?" I pulled the blankets tighter around me.
"My name is Lyra. I'm your new handmaiden." She stood and moved to the wardrobe, pulling out a beautiful dress. "High Vizier Mordain assigned me to you personally. Said you'd need help preparing for the wedding."
Mordain. The man who'd disappeared during Elara's attack.
"I don't need a handmaiden," I said carefully.
"Oh, but you do! It's a royal wedding. There are so many rules and traditions." Lyra's smile was too bright, too eager. "Besides, I've been serving in this palace for years. I can teach you everything you need to know."
She laid the dress on the bed—deep red silk that shimmered in the light. "This is what you'll wear tonight. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I stared at the dress and felt cold dread creep up my spine. "That's the color of blood."
"Is it?" Lyra tilted her head. "I hadn't noticed. But red is traditional for imperial weddings. Shows strength and passion."
Or death, I thought.
"Now then," Lyra continued, moving to the breakfast tray that had appeared on the table. "You must be starving. I brought your favorite—fresh bread with honey, fruit, and—"
"How do you know what my favorite is?" I interrupted. "We just met."
Lyra's smile faltered for just a second. "Oh, I... I must have heard from the other servants. You know how gossip travels."
She was lying. I could feel it in my bones.
"I'm not hungry," I said, though my stomach growled.
"Don't be silly. You need your strength for tonight." Lyra picked up a piece of bread and held it out. "Just one bite?"
There was something in her eyes—something eager and hungry that had nothing to do with food.
"No thank you."
Her smile turned cold. "You should eat, Your Majesty. It would be such a shame if you were too weak to stand during your own wedding." She set the bread down and moved toward the door. "I'll be back this afternoon to help you dress. Don't leave these chambers. It's not safe."
The door closed behind her.
I waited until her footsteps faded, then rushed to the breakfast tray. The bread looked perfect—golden and soft. The honey gleamed. The fruit was bright and fresh.
Too perfect.
I remembered the bitter taste of the water on my journey here. The stale bread. The way the guards had laughed when I asked for more.
And now suddenly I had a feast?
I picked up the bread and sniffed it. Nothing seemed wrong. But I thought about Lyra's too-eager smile, her insistence that I eat, the way she'd known my "favorites."
I carried the tray to the balcony and threw everything over the edge.
Three stories below, a stray cat approached the fallen food. It sniffed the bread, took one bite, and collapsed.
Dead within seconds.
My hands started shaking again.
Someone had just tried to poison me. And they'd sent a handmaiden to make sure I ate it.
I backed away from the balcony, my heart racing. The wedding was tonight. Elara would attack the moment the ceremony ended. But someone else—someone alive—was trying to kill me first.
Who could I trust? Mira had seemed kind, but she'd given me tea that knocked me out for hours. What if she'd been keeping me unconscious so Lyra could poison my breakfast?
The Emperor said he'd protect me, but he'd let seventeen other women die.
I was alone in a palace full of people who wanted me dead.
A piece of paper slid under my door.
I stared at it, terrified to move. It could be another message from Elara. Or a trap.
But curiosity won. I crept forward and picked it up.
The handwriting was different from the note I'd received at home—messier, more urgent:
"Don't trust Lyra. Don't trust Mordain. Don't trust the food or drink they give you. The Emperor is being poisoned too—that's why he's been empty for so long. The tonic Mordain gives him every night keeps the curse strong. If you want to survive the wedding, you need to stop Kael from drinking it tonight. And whatever you do, don't let them take you to the chapel early. The ceremony must happen exactly at sunset, not before. They're planning to kill you before Elara gets the chance. -A Friend"
My breath came in short gasps.
The Emperor was being poisoned. For three hundred years.
That meant Mordain wasn't just helping Elara—he was the reason Kael had stayed cursed all this time.
But why? What did Mordain gain from keeping the Emperor emotionless?
I looked at the sun through my window. It was barely past dawn. I had all day until sunset.
All day to figure out how to warn Kael about the poison without getting killed myself.
All day to prepare for a wedding that was really an execution.
I went to the wardrobe and started searching through the clothes. There had to be something I could use. A weapon. A tool. Anything.
At the back, hidden behind silk dresses, I found a small wooden box.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a dagger—small but sharp. And beneath it, a folded piece of yellowed paper covered in strange symbols.
I unfolded the paper carefully. The symbols began to glow with soft golden light, and suddenly I understood them. They were instructions. A spell.
"For the daughters of Thalia's line: When all seems lost, speak these words and let your true power wake. But be warned—once woken, it cannot sleep again. You will become what you were always meant to be, and there is no going back."
Below the warning were words in an ancient language I shouldn't be able to read.
But I could.
And I understood exactly what they would do.
This spell would fully awaken my divine magic—the same power that had pushed Elara back last night. But the warning was clear: once I used it, I would change forever.
Would I still be me? Or would I become something else? Something powerful but not quite human?
A scream echoed through the palace.
Then another.
Then dozens more.
I ran to my door and threw it open. Servants rushed past in panic.
"What's happening?" I grabbed one woman's arm.
"The bodies!" she gasped. "The seventeen dead brides—they're gone! Someone took them from the throne room, and now—" She covered her mouth, sobbing. "Now they're walking through the palace. All seventeen of them. Walking and searching."
She pulled away and ran.
I stood frozen in my doorway as the truth crashed over me.
Elara hadn't just killed seventeen women.
She'd kept their bodies. Preserved them. And now she'd brought them back.
Seventeen dead brides were hunting through the palace.
And I was about to become number eighteen.