SERA'S POV
The door handle stops rattling.
I hold my breath, pressed against the wall in the darkness. My heart pounds so loud I'm sure whoever's outside can hear it.
Then I hear voices. Two guards talking in low tones.
"—said to leave her until morning."
"But the Duke ordered—"
"Morning. Lady Vivienne's orders override his tonight."
Footsteps fade away.
I let out a shaky breath. Not tonight, then. But morning will come. And with it, whatever horror they have planned.
I don't sleep. Can't sleep. I sit by the tiny window and watch the sky slowly turn from black to gray to pink. My mind won't stop racing.
The Dragon King. They're going to send me to the Dragon King.
I know the stories. Every child in the kingdom knows them. The Dragon King lives in the Obsidian Mountains, in a palace made of black stone and dragon bones. He's ancient and cruel. And every fifty years, according to the old treaty, a noble bride must be sent to him.
No bride has ever returned.
Some say he eats them. Others say he burns them alive with dragon fire. A few whisper that he keeps them as slaves in his underground dungeons.
It doesn't matter which story is true. They all end the same way.
Death.
The lock clicks. I jump to my feet as the door swings open.
It's not guards this time. It's the head maid, Marissa. She's worked for our family for twenty years. She used to sneak me extra cookies when I was little.
Now she looks at me like I'm dirt.
"Get up," she snaps. "You have work to do."
"Marissa, please—you know me. You know I didn't—"
"I know you're a disgrace to this family." She throws a bundle of gray cloth at me. It hits my chest and falls to the floor. "Put those on. Your fancy dresses are gone. Burned them this morning."
My stomach drops. "You burned—those were my mother's—"
"Your mother's dead. And you're a servant now. Servants wear servant clothes." She crosses her arms. "You have five minutes. Then you start in the kitchens."
She leaves, slamming the door but not locking it this time. I'm not a prisoner anymore.
I'm just nothing.
I pick up the gray cloth. It's a rough servant's dress, the kind made from the cheapest fabric. It scratches my skin when I put it on. My beautiful blue dress—Mother's dress—lies torn on the floor. I fold it carefully and hide it under the mattress. It's all I have left of her.
When I step into the hallway, everything looks different. This is the servants' wing. I've never been here before. The walls are plain stone. The floors are bare. It's cold.
I follow the sound of clanging pots down narrow stairs to the kitchen.
It's chaos. Servants rush everywhere, preparing breakfast for the family. The fire roars. Steam fills the air. And standing in the middle of it all is Marissa, pointing at me.
"That's her. The disgraced lady." Her voice carries over the noise. "She works for us now."
Every servant stops and stares. Some look shocked. Others smile meanly. One girl—probably my age—actually laughs.
"Well, well," says the cook, a large woman named Beatrice. She looks me up and down. "Mighty fall, wasn't it? From lady to scullery maid in one night."
"I'm not—" I start, but my voice breaks. What am I going to say? I'm not a servant? But I am now. I have no money. Nowhere to go. No one who'll help me.
"You're not what?" Beatrice moves closer. "Not a cheater? Not a disgrace? That's not what the whole kingdom is saying."
"It's not true," I whisper.
"Don't care if it's true or not." She shoves a bucket into my hands. Water sloshes over the sides, soaking my dress. "You work here now. And you'll do what I say, when I say it. Understand?"
I want to throw the bucket at her. I want to scream. But what good would it do?
I nod.
"Good. Start with the floors. All of them. Main hall, dining room, ballroom. And when you're done with that, you'll scrub every pot in this kitchen."
The other servants snicker as I carry the heavy bucket away.
The hours blur together in pain and humiliation.
I scrub floors on my hands and knees. My back screams. My fingers bleed. The water turns black with dirt. When I finish the main hall, Marissa "accidentally" spills wine on it and makes me start over.
In the dining room, I have to work while the family eats lunch. I keep my head down, but I can feel them staring.
"Poor thing," Lady Vivienne says loudly. "She used to eat at this table. Now look at her."
Celeste giggles. "Do you think she regrets her choices?"
"Some people never learn," Father says. He doesn't even look at me.
I grip the scrub brush so hard my knuckles turn white. Don't react. Don't give them the satisfaction.
But then Marcus speaks. "Perhaps we're being too harsh—"
"Too harsh?" Vivienne's voice turns sharp. "She betrayed your trust, Lord Marcus. She made a fool of you. If anything, we're being too kind letting her stay here at all."
"You're right, of course," Marcus says quickly. Coward.
I scrub harder, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall.
When I finally return to the kitchen, it's evening. I've been working for twelve hours straight. My whole body hurts.
"Took you long enough," Beatrice says. "Now the pots."
The pile of dirty pots is as tall as me.
I start washing. The water is scalding hot, but I barely feel it. I'm too numb. Too exhausted. Too broken.
"Hey." A quiet voice makes me look up. It's a young servant boy, maybe thirteen. He glances around nervously, then slides a piece of bread across the counter to me. "You should eat something."
It's the first kindness anyone's shown me all day. My throat tightens.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Don't thank me. Just... don't let them break you completely." He hurries away before anyone notices.
I eat the bread in three bites. It's stale and hard, but it's food.
By the time I finish the pots, it's midnight. My hands are raw and bleeding. Every muscle in my body screams.
Marissa appears in the doorway. "You're done. Go to your room."
I drag myself up the stairs. I can barely lift my feet.
But when I reach my door, I freeze.
There are voices inside my room.
"—absolutely certain?" That's Father's voice.
"The treaty is clear." An unfamiliar man speaks. "Fifty years to the day. A noble bride must be presented, or the Dragon King will consider it an act of war."
My blood turns to ice.
"And you're sure he'll accept her?" Lady Vivienne asks. "Even though she's... disgraced?"
"The treaty specifies noble blood, not reputation," the strange man says. "She's still the daughter of a Duke. She counts."
"Perfect." Vivienne sounds pleased. "When do his emissaries arrive?"
"Three days. They'll inspect her and take her back to the Obsidian Mountains."
Three days.
I have three days to live.
"What about her father?" the stranger asks. "Will he object?"
There's a long pause. Then Father speaks, and his words shatter what's left of my heart.
"No. I won't object. The kingdom's safety is more important than one disgraced daughter. If her sacrifice prevents war, then that's her purpose."
"Excellent. I'll inform the King's council."
I hear footsteps moving toward the door. I scramble backward, pressing into the shadows as Father, Vivienne, and a man in official robes step out. They don't see me.
They walk away, discussing details. How they'll prepare me. What I'll wear. How they'll present it to the kingdom as an honor.
An honor.
They're going to tell everyone I volunteered. That I'm redeeming myself by sacrificing myself for the kingdom.
And no one will question it. Who would? I'm already ruined. Already worthless.
The perfect victim.
I wait until their footsteps fade completely. Then I slip into my room and collapse onto the thin mattress.
Three days.
In three days, I'll be taken to the Dragon King.
In three days, I'll die.
Unless—
A wild thought strikes me. What if I run? Right now. Tonight. I could slip out, steal a horse, disappear before they wake up.
But where would I go? I have no money. No friends. The kingdom is enormous, and I'd be hunted as a deserter. They'd probably execute me for breaking the treaty.
At least with the Dragon King, death might be quick.
I curl into a ball on the mattress, hugging Mother's torn dress to my chest.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I whisper into the darkness. "I'm so sorry I failed you."
The window is open just a crack. Through it, I can see the Obsidian Mountains in the distance, black shapes against the night sky.
Somewhere in those mountains, the Dragon King is waiting.
For me.
A sound makes me freeze. Footsteps in the hallway. Again. But these are different. Heavier. Not Marissa or guards.
The door handle turns slowly.
Someone's coming into my room.
At midnight.
After everyone else has gone to bed.
I sit up, my heart racing. "Who's there?"
The door opens.
A figure steps inside, silhouetted by the hallway torchlight.
And when I see who it is, my blood runs cold.
It's Jonathan.
The stable hand. The one they accused me of having an affair with. The one Vivienne paid off.
He closes the door behind him and locks it.
"Hello, Sera," he says softly. "We need to talk."
His hand moves to his belt, and I see the glint of a knife