Adrian's POV
I shouldn't have told her the truth.
Standing in my chambers with bandages wrapped around my arm, I replayed the conversation with Seraphina over and over. Victor Castellano's first rule: never reveal what you know until you're ready to use it.
And I'd just told the enemy spy exactly what I suspected.
Stupid. Reckless. Desperate.
But something about her eyes—the way she'd watched me fight without fear—made me gamble. In my old life, I could always spot talent. People who could be turned. Used. Made into allies instead of enemies.
Seraphina had talent. The question was whether she'd use it against me or with me.
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Enter," I called.
Thomas shuffled in, looking nervous. "Your Highness, the King demands your presence in the throne room. Immediately. Lady Seraphina's official welcome ceremony is about to begin."
My stomach dropped. "Now? I look like I just survived a knife fight."
"You did survive a knife fight, my lord." Thomas helped me into a clean shirt. "But the King says you must attend. And... Prince Daemon will be there."
Of course he would. My dear brother probably wanted to see if his assassins had finished the job.
Time to put on a show.
The throne room was packed with nobles, all watching me enter like vultures circling a dying animal. Their whispers followed me:
"Did you hear? He fought off three attackers."
"Impossible. Adrian can barely hold a sword."
"Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe he really has changed."
I walked slowly, letting them see the bandage on my arm. Let them wonder. Let them talk.
King Aldric sat on his throne, looking even sicker than yesterday. Daemon stood beside him, his face a perfect mask of concern—but his eyes were pure poison when they met mine.
You failed, I thought at him. And now you're scared.
"Prince Adrian." Father's voice echoed through the hall. "You're late."
"Apologies, Your Majesty." I bowed. "I was recovering from an assassination attempt."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Daemon's mask cracked for just a second. "What? Who would dare—"
"I wonder," I said, staring straight at him.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Then the trumpets blared.
"Presenting Lady Seraphina Ashenheart, daughter of General Marcus Ashenheart, bride to Prince Adrian Valtheris!"
The doors opened and she walked in.
I'd seen beautiful women before. In my old life, Victor had dated models, actresses, heiresses. Beauty was common in my world.
But Seraphina wasn't just beautiful. She was dangerous beauty. The kind that made men stupid. The kind that toppled kingdoms.
Silver-blonde hair. Ice-blue eyes. A smile that promised everything and delivered nothing.
And she was walking straight toward me, playing her role perfectly.
Time to play mine.
I stumbled slightly, catching myself on a nearby pillar. Made my eyes a little unfocused. Let my mouth hang open just a bit.
The old Adrian. The drunk. The fool.
"My lord." Seraphina reached me and curtsied gracefully. "I'm honored to meet you."
Up close, I could see her analyzing me. Looking for the man who'd fought three assassins and known her mission. But all she saw was what I wanted her to see: a prince trying to act sober and failing.
"L-Lady Seraphina." I bowed clumsily, almost losing my balance. "You're... wow. You're really pretty."
Some nobles snickered.
Perfect.
"You're too kind, my prince." Her smile widened, more confident now. She thought she had me figured out. "I look forward to learning more about you."
"Me too! I mean—about you. Learning about you." I grinned like an idiot. "This is great. We're getting married! Do you like horses? I tried to knight mine once but Father said no."
More laughter from the crowd.
Daemon relaxed visibly. Even Father looked disappointed again, that brief hope from breakfast completely gone.
Only one person didn't buy it.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed slightly. Too slightly for anyone else to notice. But I saw it.
She wasn't sure.
Good. Keep her guessing.
King Aldric cleared his throat. "The wedding will proceed in two weeks as planned. Lady Seraphina will reside in the guest wing until then. Prince Adrian, you will show her around the castle tomorrow."
"Really?" I said too loudly. "That's amazing! I know all the best places to drink—I mean, to see. All the best places to see."
Seraphina touched my arm gently. "I'm sure you'll be an excellent guide, my prince."
Her fingers were cold through my sleeve. And in that brief touch, I felt something pass between us—a challenge. A question.
Who are you really?
The ceremony ended. Nobles dispersed. Seraphina was led away by servants toward her chambers.
But as she reached the door, she glanced back.
Our eyes met across the crowded room.
For one second—just one—she dropped the sweet bride act. Her eyes turned sharp. Calculating. Hunter's eyes.
Then she smiled and disappeared through the doorway.
"Well," Daemon said beside me, making me jump. "That went well. She seems lovely. Perfect for you, actually."
I turned to face him, keeping the drunk act going. "You think? I thought she was maybe too pretty for me."
"Definitely too pretty." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Which makes me wonder why General Ashenheart would waste such a valuable daughter on his enemy's most useless prince."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear.
"Unless she's not a bride at all."
My blood turned cold but I kept smiling stupidly.
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't." Daemon patted my shoulder—right on my wounded arm. I winced. "Just remember, little brother: accidents happen to people who know too much. Those assassins today? Pure luck you survived. Next time you might not be so lucky."
He walked away, leaving me standing there alone.
He admitted it. He actually admitted ordering my death.
And he didn't care because he thought I was too stupid to do anything about it.
Wrong.
I headed toward my chambers, mind racing with plans. I needed allies. Information. Weapons. I needed to—
A figure stepped out of the shadows ahead.
Seraphina.
She stood in the empty corridor, no servants, no guards. Just her and me.
The sweet bride act was completely gone.
"Drop it," she said quietly. "The drunk prince routine. I'm not buying it anymore."
I kept my face neutral. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." She walked closer. "In that room with the assassins, you moved like a trained fighter. You knew about my mission before we even spoke. And just now in the throne room, when Daemon threatened you, your eyes went cold for exactly two seconds before you remembered to act stupid."
Damn. She was good.
"So here's what's going to happen," Seraphina continued. "You're going to tell me who you really are. You're going to explain how you knew about the invasion. And then we're going to figure out if we're enemies or allies."
"And if I refuse?"
She smiled—no warmth, just teeth. "Then I'll assume you're a threat. And I eliminate threats."
Her hand moved to her sleeve, where I'd bet everything I owned she kept a hidden knife.
We stood three feet apart in an empty corridor. Nobody around. Nobody to help.
If this turned into a fight, I'd probably lose. Adrian's body was still weak. Still recovering. And Seraphina was trained by the greatest general alive.
But Victor Castellano hadn't survived thirty years in the mob by fighting every battle with fists.
Sometimes you won by telling the truth.
Or at least, part of it.
"I died," I said simply.
Seraphina blinked. "What?"
"Two days ago, Prince Adrian was drunk. Pathetic. Useless." I met her eyes steadily. "Then something changed. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe I had a vision from the gods. Maybe I just woke up and decided to stop being a waste of space. But whoever I was before? He's gone."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?" I stepped closer, watching her hand tense on her hidden weapon. "You're a spy pretending to be a bride. I'm a prince who isn't really a prince anymore. We're both playing roles, Seraphina. The question is whether we play against each other or together."
"You're insane."
"Maybe." I smiled Victor's cold smile. "But I'm also right about the invasion. Your father's coming. And when he does, neither of us will survive unless we work together."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because," I said softly, "I'm the only person in this entire kingdom who knows what you really are—and I haven't killed you yet."
She studied me for a long moment.
Then her hand moved.
I tensed, ready to dodge—
But she didn't pull a knife.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me.
"Read this," she whispered. "Then tell me if you still want my help."
I unfolded it carefully.
It was a letter. Written in code I somehow understood—Adrian's memories supplied the cipher.
And as I read, my hands started shaking.
The letter was from General Ashenheart.
To Prince Daemon.
Promising him the throne of Valtheim in exchange for sabotaging the kingdom's defenses from the inside.
My brother wasn't just stealing money.
He was committing treason.
And Seraphina just gave me proof.
"Where did you get this?" I breathed.
"My father's desk. Two weeks ago." Her voice was tight. "He doesn't know I saw it. Doesn't know I can read his codes."
"Why are you showing me this?"
She looked away, and for the first time, I saw real emotion crack through her spy's mask.
Fear.
"Because," she whispered, "the letter has a second part. Orders for after the invasion succeeds."
"What orders?"
Seraphina's ice-blue eyes met mine, and I saw the truth before she said it.
"Kill the bride. Leave no witnesses."
My father sent me here to die.