"Do you have any idea the precarious position your childish tantrums have placed us in? The court has been rife with rumors. The Duke Thorne has been patiently waiting for days. Patiently," she repeated, the word dripping with irony, implying the Duke was not accustomed to waiting for anyone, let alone a flighty princess.
Seraphina's joyful bubble popped, replaced by a dawning understanding of the gravity of her new situation. The Empress spoke of Aurelia's previous defiance, the political necessity of this match. Seraphina, remembering her past of being discarded, of never being chosen, found herself incapable of arguing. She did not just accept this. She was quietly, desperately eager for this validation, this powerful connection.
Her newfound compliance seemed to utterly baffle the Empress. A perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose a fraction. A flicker of suspicion crossed her eyes, quickly masked. "Good," she said, a strange, almost clipped note in her voice. "Then you will be pleased to know the wedding has been moved forward. It will be in one week."
One week! Seraphina's breath caught… she hadn't even met the Duke, but then again he couldn't be that bad.
She just needed to make a good impression, then they could live happily ever after.
She giggled at that thought. She'd be a Duchess, her very dream coming to reality.
Soon after the Empress's announcement, another figure entered. Prince Valerius. He was a stark contrast to his mother's frigid majesty. Warm, handsome, with a thoughtful, kind face, he approached Seraphina. He pushed past the maids, his eyes filled with genuine concern.
"Aurelia, sister," he said, his voice soft, "are you truly recovered? We were so worried." He gently took her hand, his touch reassuring, a profound warmth Seraphina had never experienced. He seemed confused by her docility, but immensely relieved she was no longer causing a scene. He offered a genuine connection, a lifeline in this strange new world.
"You've been so… spirited of late," Valerius continued, a faint sigh escaping him. "Refused to attend any of the Duke's gatherings. Your disdain for court etiquette, your aversion to the very idea of this marriage… it had the entire palace in an uproar." He chuckled, a soft, fond sound. "Father was beside himself."
Seraphina offered him a small, earnest smile. "Perhaps I merely needed a good rest to see things clearly."
Her transformation into the Sunstone Princess continued with painstaking detail. Maids brought forth an array of dazzling jewels, emeralds, topazes, and sapphires that glittered like captured starlight. She was dressed in a breathtaking imperial gown of deep gold, embroidered with silver sunbursts. Each button, each stitch, spoke of immense wealth and power. The maids were meticulous, their respect genuine, their touches gentle.
As she was adorned, she began to truly understand the power this new body, this new title, commanded. She noticed the immediate obedience, the catering to her every whim, the hushed reverence when she spoke. It was intoxicating, a potent brew that swelled her chest. Her internal monologue solidified into a quiet vow: I will never be overlooked again. Never discarded.
The air in the chamber buzzed with anticipation for the Duke. Gossip about Duke Alaric Thorne flowed freely from the maids' eager lips. "They say his power is boundless," Elara whispered, "that his family is as old as the empire itself." Lyra added, "And handsome too. Though terribly cold. And he keeps strange hours, they say, sleeping through the brightest days." Another maid murmured, "My aunt once worked in his kitchens. Said he never touched wine, only drank from... special flasks." The hints were subtle, yet unsettling.
Finally, Seraphina, now fully Princess Aurelia, was declared ready. She stood before a grand arched doorway, her heart thrumming with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. A chamberlain, stiff in his formal robes, announced with booming gravitas, "His Grace, Duke Alaric Thorne!"
The doors swung open.
He stood there, a figure of striking, almost unnatural beauty. Tall, lean, with sharp, aristocratic features that seemed carved from moonlight. His hair was the color of midnight, his eyes the deepest, darkest obsidian, yet they held an ancient, unsettling light. He exuded power, cold and silent, yet undeniably alluring. His presence filled the vast hall, dwarfing everything else. He was a force of nature.
He moved with a languid grace that belied his immense strength, his gaze piercing, direct. He looked at her, truly looked, as if seeing through the golden gown, through Princess Aurelia, directly into the essence of Seraphina. A subtle, almost imperceptible shift crossed his features.
"It seems," he murmured, his voice a deep, resonant rumble, "the Princess has found a new… serenity. A welcome change." His words were calm, but held a hint of challenge, a subtle suggestion that he knew her former, rebellious self.
After a formal, tense exchange of pleasantries, he extended an invitation. "Princess, if you are truly recovered, I would be honored if you would break bread with me this evening. A private dinner, to discuss the arrangements for our… swift union." The word "bread" seemed oddly specific, a polite formality she was yet to understand in this new, glittering world.
Later that evening, Seraphina, once again adorned in a simple yet elegant gown, found herself in a private, opulent dining room. Soft lamplight flickered from crystal chandeliers, casting warm glows on rich tapestries depicting ancient hunts. A single, small table was set for two, laden with gleaming silver and delicate porcelain. The air was thick with a strange, metallic scent, primal and raw, yet somehow subtly masked by burning incense.
The Duke sat opposite her, his expression unreadable. Attendants entered, bearing massive silver platters. Seraphina's eyes widened. This was not roasted pheasant or delicate pastries. This was a shocking array of raw, glistening cuts of meat. There were thick, dark steaks, barely seared on one side, still oozing deep crimson. Bowls held what looked suspiciously like a rich, viscous liquid, dark as clotted wine.
The Duke gestured gracefully to the feast. "Please, Princess, help yourself."
Seraphina stared. Her stomach lurched, a cold, visceral shock. Her mind screamed. Meat? Just meat? And… raw?
"Ah, yes," he murmured, his voice like silken midnight, a low thrum that vibrated through the air. "I forgot. Humans often prefer their sustenance… cooked. A minor inconvenience, given our rather different appetites."
Seraphina stared at him, then at the blood-red feast, then back at his unnervingly beautiful, predatory smile. The horrifying truth dawned on her, colder and sharper than any sword.
Her handsome, powerful fiancé, the legendary Duke Thorne, and perhaps this entire imperial family, were not human!
The rumours were true!