Moonlight shone on the palace floors as Seraphina moved with care. Each quiet step away from Alaric felt like peeling back a layer he'd tried to claim. Even the soft swish of her gown against the stone echoed like quiet defiance in the still halls.
Since the day she woke from the fire, she had kept her distance. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to create space. Every excuse to avoid him, every skipped glance, every half-smile, all of it was stitched together into a quiet rebellion. Not a rebellion of words or open confrontation, but of small refusals. Of restraint.
At night, she claimed exhaustion. During the day, she dodged his touch with polite reasons.
Even the thought of his fingers on her skin made her stomach turn.
Sometimes, the urge to end it all surged so strongly it nearly stole her breath. One movement. One plunge of steel. She could be free. But Seraphina wasn't reckless. Not anymore.
The palace walls were still lined with liars, and the court was a nest of smiles that hid daggers. If she struck too early, she'd fall alone.
She passed through the long gallery, her footsteps soft against marble. The last time she walked here, it was as a duchess beside her husband, draped in crimson and glory. Now she walked alone, quieter, sharper. She glanced down at the mosaic beneath her feet, a winding river of flame and lilies. Her mother once told her it symbolized peace through strength. She hadn't understood it then.
She did now.
She would not be another name in a footnote. Not another consort cast aside.
She would wait.
She would build.
And when she struck, she wouldn't just destroy him.
She would bring the whole corrupt throne down with him.
She wouldn't be a name whispered behind closed doors. She wouldn't be remembered as another woman used and discarded.
She would wait. She would plan.
And when the time came, she wouldn't just cut him down.
She would bring down the whole rotten court with him.
-----
Later that night, Seraphina sat stiffly at the edge of their shared bedchamber, the fire casting restless shadows across the walls.
She had hoped exhaustion and coldness would keep Alaric away, but she saw it in his eyes the moment he crossed the threshold - the expectation, the hunger masked as tenderness.
He approached slowly, all practiced charm and quiet possessiveness, fingers trailing along the carved bedpost as he circled toward her.
"Come to bed, my love," he said, voice low, coaxing.
For one brief, dangerous heartbeat, Seraphina considered reaching for the dagger hidden in her robe's folds.
But she could not risk it. Not yet. Not until the pieces were in place.
She forced a smile that tasted like ash.
The scent of his breath-mulled wine, clove, and lies-washed over her. Her fingers curled slightly against the silk at her side, the hidden dagger a whisper against her skin. Not yet, she reminded herself. Timing would be everything. Power was not taken in chaos. It was earned in bloodless victories, stacked quietly in corners until the tower toppled under its own weight.
She kissed him back - just enough. Enough to keep his suspicions dormant.
Inside, she screamed.
Every touch of his mouth against hers felt like oil on raw skin.
Every caress of his hands down her arms, her waist, her back, ignited the kind of rage that begged for blood.
She lay back when he urged her, felt the mattress dip under his weight.
His hand slid along her side, claiming, exploring.
When his mouth trailed down her neck, she bit down on the rising bile.
She thought of the child she would never bear, the empire they had tried to rip from her hands, the pyre that had devoured her screams.
Endure it, she told herself, teeth gritted behind a smile.
Endure it because the end will be worth it.
Endure it because soon, he will beg for mercy and find none.
He moved to climb atop her - and then stilled.
Alaric pulled back, frowning.
"You're trembling," he murmured, brushing a hand against her cheek. "And you're pale."
Seraphina lowered her gaze, letting the false exhaustion seep into her limbs.
"I-I'm tired," she said, voice thin and shaking - not entirely from the act.
He studied her for a moment longer, suspicion flickering behind his eyes.
Then he sighed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then her forehead.
"Rest, my love," he said, standing. "There are... matters that require my attention."
He did not meet her eyes as he adjusted his cloak and slipped from the room - no doubt fleeing to Evelyne's waiting arms.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Seraphina rose from the bed in a sudden, violent motion.
She tore off her robe, shoving it into the hearth where it caught flame instantly - like a funeral for what she had endured.
In the bathing chamber, she scrubbed herself until her skin burned raw - shoulders, neck, arms, everywhere his hands had wandered.
The water ran hot, and then hotter still, until steam blurred the mirrors and scalded her lungs.
No matter how fiercely she scrubbed, the filth clung to her mind more stubbornly than to her skin.
The room was spinning, heat warping her vision as shadows crawled along the ceiling. The girl who had once danced in these chambers, had laughed in soft silks and dreamed of books and scrolls-where had she gone? Burned. Reduced. Reborn. There was no room left in her for softness. Not tonight.
There would come a day when Alaric Vessant would know what it felt like to be powerless.
And when he begged - when he finally understood -
She would not stay his execution with mercy.
----
Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the glass like a whisper.
Seraphina stepped onto the balcony, a towel wrapped tightly around her. Her skin was still red and sore from scrubbing, each breath of cool night air making her shiver. Below, the garden rustled quietly, leaves swaying under the moonlight.
She looked out over the hedge maze, knowing that somewhere beyond it, the court whispered and schemed in the dark. Evelyne was out there, speaking lies into Alaric's ear, pretending sweetness while hiding venom. But Seraphina stood above it all—alone, quiet, and awake.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, her gaze was steady.
Let them whisper.
Let them plot.
She wouldn't run. She wouldn't bow.
Let them all come.
She would be ready.