They say betrayal feels like a knife in the back, but mine came with applause."
The ballroom glittered with opulence. Chandeliers hung like frozen stars, gowns shimmered like moonlight on water, and laughter echoed with the sharp edge of politics disguised as charm.
Seraphina Vale stood at the center of it all, radiant in crimson silk. Her dress hugged her slender form, embroidered with her house's sigil—a golden phoenix rising from flame. A symbol of resilience. Of honor. Of rebirth.
How ironic.
She smiled as nobles bowed and curtsied, a perfect replica of what they expected her to be: polite, docile, a quiet ornament beside the crown prince.
Tonight was supposed to be her engagement ball. The night her name would be sealed beside his. The night she would finally be acknowledged not just as the daughter of House Vale, but as the future queen of Ardenthal.
But something was off.
Every polite smile aimed her way came with something lurking behind it. Smirks too sharp. Whispers too hushed. Applause too loud.
And the prince—her betrothed—stood on the dais with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Seraphina's heart thudded.
She scanned the room, searching for her father. For her brother. For someone. But the moment her eyes met the Queen's, a chill raced down her spine. The Queen didn't look amused.
She looked triumphant.
That's when the herald stepped forward.
His voice boomed across the ballroom. "His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Kael, has a royal declaration to make!"
Everyone turned. A hush fell.
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
Kael took a step forward. "Tonight," he began, voice smooth like polished steel, "was meant to celebrate a union between House Vale and the royal family. But a union must be built on trust…"
Murmurs started.
Kael didn't flinch. "And that trust has been broken."
Seraphina blinked. "What?"
The herald unfurled a scroll. "House Vale is hereby charged with high treason against the crown. Count Alric Vale and Lord Dorian Vale are to be arrested for conspiring with foreign enemies and endangering the realm."
The world tilted.
"No…" she whispered.
Laughter. A noblewoman gasped. Somewhere, glass shattered.
Kael looked at her with pity. Or maybe it was relief. "I'm sorry, Seraphina. You didn't know. But your house betrayed the throne. Your father planned to sell royal secrets to the Eastern Empire."
"That's a lie!" Her voice cracked. "My father would never—my brother—"
"Silence," barked the Queen. "Guards."
The golden-armored knights moved in like wolves scenting blood.
Seraphina turned, about to run—but where?—when something colder than betrayal settled over her.
From the back of the room, a familiar voice rang out. "Let her speak."
The crowd parted.
A man stepped forward—Lord Magnus Harthorne, a noble from the Queen's inner circle. Her late mother's cousin. Trusted. Loyal.
Until now.
"I saw the documents myself," he said smoothly. "And the meetings. I witnessed the betrayal."
Seraphina's mouth dropped. "You're lying! You were a guest in our home!"
He only smiled.
Kael looked away.
She turned back to him, panic rising. "You know them. You know they're innocent."
Kael clenched his jaw. "Even if they are, the court needs a sacrifice. This scandal has to end."
"So you're using me?" she asked, voice hollow.
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
The guards grabbed her by the arms.
"No!" she screamed, thrashing as nobles watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths. "You cowards! You traitors!"
They dragged her through the crowd. No one stopped them. No one dared.
Her eyes burned. Her nails dug into skin. But no one came to her defense.
Not even the man who once claimed to love her.
As the ballroom doors slammed behind her, Seraphina caught one last glimpse of her house's sigil above the arch—a golden phoenix rising.
The dungeons beneath the palace were nothing like the fairytales. They weren't dank or dripping with shadows. No, they were worse—clean. Cold. Silent. Designed to make you go mad in the stillness.
Seraphina sat with her knees pulled to her chest, red dress torn, tiara gone, hair undone and tangled like a ghost of who she had been just hours ago.
Her wrists bore the marks of the guard's grip. Her pride bore worse.
She hadn't cried.
Not when they shoved her into the cell. Not when they slammed the gate shut. Not when the queen herself had come down, smirking behind her veil, and told her her father and brother had been executed before dawn.
She hadn't cried.
Not yet.
"They called me a traitor," she murmured to herself, voice raw. "They took my family. My name. My future. And still… I didn't cry."
The walls gave no answer.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Her head lifted.
A tall figure approached, flanked by two guards. He walked with the arrogance of someone who had never tasted loss. Each step deliberate. Measured. Power clung to him like a shadow.
King Alaric Vale.
No. Crown Prince Alaric. Back then, he hadn't yet ascended the throne.
He was older than Kael, sharper in wit, deadlier in politics. A man known for bloodshed and silence. He rarely attended court functions unless it involved war or punishment.
Yet here he was.
Seraphina rose shakily, the iron chains dragging against the stone. Her lips curled with the first ember of spite.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?" she asked, sarcasm slicing through her exhaustion.
Alaric's gaze raked over her—bruised, broken, still standing.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"Oh? Were you hoping I'd be wailing on the floor? Or maybe begging for mercy?"
"Neither," he replied. "I thought you'd be dead by now."
Her eyes narrowed. "Charming."
He stepped closer, dismissing the guards with a flick of his hand. They hesitated but obeyed.
Now it was just them. The fallen phoenix and the viper prince.
Alaric studied her, eyes unreadable. "You didn't know about your family's dealings?"
"I told you. They were framed."
"And you expect me to believe you?"
"I don't expect anything from a man who thinks cruelty is a strategy," she snapped.
A smirk ghosted across his lips. "You've got fire. No wonder the Queen hated you."
Seraphina's breath hitched.
"Why are you here?" she whispered.
Alaric tilted his head. "Because I'm not sure what to do with you yet."
"Execute me, like the rest?"
"Hmm. I thought about it. But then again…" He leaned in, voice low. "You're too interesting to kill."
Her stomach twisted. "I'm not a game."
"But you're on the board now, Seraphina. And every piece has its use."
She stepped forward, chains rattling. "If you're looking for loyalty, you'll be disappointed."
"I don't need loyalty," he said, voice like ice. "I need leverage."
Her nails curled into her palms.
"You don't scare me," she lied.
"I should," he replied.
And just like that, he turned on his heel, the cell door creaking open behind him.
Before stepping out, he looked over his shoulder. "You have three days before the court decides your fate. Choose your next moves carefully… traitor."
He left her with that word.
But this time, it didn't crush her.
It burned.
As the cell door slammed shut, Seraphina didn't collapse. She stood taller.
They took everything.
Now, she would take it back—starting with the crown.
They thought she'd break.
But in the silence after the prince's departure, Seraphina Vale made a promise. One that echoed louder than the chains still wrapped around her wrists.
I will not be remembered as a traitor.
She paced the cell like a caged lioness, dragging the weight of betrayal behind her. Her mind was a battlefield—grief warred with fury, innocence buried beneath the rubble of everything she'd ever known.
In her world, she had once been timid. A girl who bowed her head and swallowed her pride, just to be accepted.
Not anymore.
This world didn't need softness. It needed precision. Steel. And she had already bled enough.
The iron door creaked open again, and her heart lurched—but it wasn't Alaric this time. A guard stepped in, followed by a young girl dressed in a healer's garb. Slender and pale, with nervous hands clutching a small satchel.
"His Highness sent her," the guard muttered, unlocking the shackles around Seraphina's wrists. "To patch you up. You're to be brought to the main hall tomorrow."
"Am I?" Seraphina said coolly, rubbing her raw skin. "How thoughtful of him."
The guard flinched, as if the sarcasm had more bite than any sword.
He left them alone.
The healer girl kneeled quickly and opened her satchel, not daring to meet Seraphina's eyes.
"What's your name?" Seraphina asked.
The girl hesitated, hands trembling. "Lina, my lady."
Seraphina bit back a laugh. Still a 'lady' while rotting in a dungeon. How generous.
Lina gently dabbed at the bruises around her arms and shoulders, murmuring apologies every time Seraphina winced.
"You're scared of me," Seraphina noted.
"N-No, my lady. I mean, yes. A little."
"Because of the rumors?"
"Because of the prince."
That made her pause. "Alaric?"
Lina gave a timid nod. "He's never spared anyone accused of treason before. And he's never sent… anyone down here."
Seraphina's lips parted, a thousand questions dancing behind her teeth.
What game was Alaric playing?
Why her?
She leaned back against the wall and watched Lina work, thoughts spinning faster than the stars outside.
If Alaric sees me as useful, I can survive this.
If I survive… I can destroy them all.
By morning, the cell door opened again—but this time, it was no soldier.
It was Alaric.
He wore obsidian robes lined with gold, his crown gleaming in the torchlight. His presence was thunder without a storm.
"You clean up nicely," he said, eyeing her bandaged arms.
Seraphina stood. "If you're here to taunt me again, save your breath. You've already made it clear I'm your pawn."
"Wrong," he said. "You're no pawn. Pawns are replaceable."
She folded her arms. "Then what am I?"
"A test."
Her brows arched. "Of what?"
"My patience." He smiled faintly. "Or perhaps my instincts."
He stepped aside and gestured. "Come. You're being summoned."
"To be executed?"
"To be seen," he said.
She didn't move.
"You're afraid," he said, tilting his head.
"No," she replied, walking past him. "I'm planning."
He chuckled softly. "Good. Planning means you still have something to fight for."
---
The hallway was long, lined with guards in silver armor who avoided her gaze. Whispers trailed behind her like perfume.
The traitor's daughter.
The cursed girl.
The Vale disgrace.
She held her head higher.
By the time they reached the throne room, Seraphina had wrapped herself in every inch of fury she had left. Every ounce of dignity. Every bitter truth.
The doors opened.
The court was gathered like vultures. Nobles in silk. Advisors with sharp eyes. Even the dowager queen, cloaked in mourning black despite the smile twisting her lips.
At the head of it all sat the king—not Alaric.
King Edric Vale.
Alaric's father.
His face was cold, unreadable.
Alaric took his place at his right, like a coiled serpent ready to strike.
Seraphina stood alone in the center of the marble floor, the target of every eye in the room.
"Seraphina Vale," the king said, his voice booming, "you are hereby stripped of title, land, and protection under the crown. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Silence.
A heartbeat.
Then Seraphina lifted her chin and stepped forward.
"I have only this to say," she began, voice steady. "Lies are louder than truth in this court. But lies burn. And when they do, the truth will be all that remains."
A ripple of shock swept the court.
Alaric's lips twitched into something unreadable—part smirk, part warning.
The king narrowed his eyes. "So you remain defiant."
"No, Your Majesty," Seraphina said softly. "I remain alive."
The court erupted into chaos.
Nobles gasped. The queen's smile faltered.
And Alaric… Alaric laughed.
Low. Dark. Dangerous.
"Congratulations, Seraphina," he murmured under his
"You just became the most dangerous woman in the kingdom."