One Year Later
Sylas(13year old)pov
The way she walked into the hall told me everything.
Back straight, arms at her sides, head tilted not upward in pride — but downward, just slightly. Enough to force others to look up at her, even when she stood lower on the stairs.
Twelve months ago, Seraphina would've fidgeted with her sleeves.
Now?
Now she was steel in velvet.
---
It was a minor gathering — just local nobles, a visiting merchant prince, and two political wives from a northern province — all pretending their words didn't drip with judgment.
I stood behind her chair as usual.
She didn't glance back once.
She didn't need to.
---
Lady Ilivette of Greystone spoke first.
False laughter. Thin voice.
"So quiet, dear Seraphina. Has the capital made you shy?"
The question floated across the table like perfume hiding poison.
One year ago, she would've smiled politely and said nothing.
Today, she tilted her head — slow, deliberate — and said:
"Only people who speak too much assume silence is weakness, my lady."
A beat.
Then a sip of tea.
Smooth.
The woman's smile froze, just a fraction too tight.
I almost laughed.
---
Later, the merchant's son tried to charm her. Bold, polished, older by three years. Most girls would've blushed. He leaned too close, complimented her sleeves, and dropped the word "delicate" three times in two minutes.
Seraphina didn't blink.
She asked him how his shipping routes avoided the pirate blockade at Crosswell Bay — a known risk he hadn't mentioned once.
His jaw clenched.
She noticed.
When he lied, she nodded sweetly… and never looked at him again.
She didn't need to.
He was already dismissed.
---
That evening, back in her chambers, she pulled the pins from her braid with practiced grace. Not rushed. Not tired.
Composed.
I poured her tea.
She accepted it in silence, then finally said:
"Today was easier than I expected."
I gave a quiet sound of agreement.
"Greystone was the only real threat," she continued. "The merchant's son was... decorative."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're judging intentions now?"
"Always," she said.
Then, with a sideways glance:
"Isn't that what you taught me?"
---
She had changed.
The girl who once stared too long and spoke too little had become someone people watched carefully now — and with reason.
She noticed everything.
And yet…
I said nothing.
Not yet.
---
She stood, walking slowly to the window. The moonlight caught her profile — softer than before, but sharpened by what she'd learned.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked suddenly.
I looked up. "Regret what?"
"Teaching me this. How to see people. How to break down lies. How to read the truth behind the voice."
I didn't answer at once.
She turned, facing me fully.
"I'm not sure I like what I see sometimes."
"That means it's working."
"Does it?" she asked quietly. "Because now I see through everyone. And most of what I see is... disappointing."
---
I stood as well.
Approached slowly.
"You're learning how the world actually works," I said. "It's not always kind. Or honest. But it's always there — if you know where to look."
She looked away again, voice softer.
"It's just... before, I thought they were pretending."
"They are."
"No, I mean… I thought they were pretending to be cruel. That deep down, they weren't."
"And now?"
"Now I'm not so sure."
---
She didn't sound broken.
Not sad.
Just aware.
There's a difference — and a cost.
I had carried that weight for years.
Now I was watching her take it up.
---
"You see clearly," I said. "That's rare."
"I used to think it was lonely," she said. "Now I think it's dangerous."
A pause.
Then, softly:
"Do you ever get tired of seeing so much?"
I didn't lie.
"Yes."
She nodded once, like she understood.
Then walked past me to the mirror on the far wall.
She stared into it.
Not at her hair. Not her face.
Her eyes.
"Everyone sees me now," she said.
"They always did."
"No," she replied. "They saw the heir. Now they see a girl who sees them back."
And then, she turned — slow, steady.
"Even you flinch sometimes when I look too long."
---
She was right.
I did.
Not because I was afraid.
But because I realized she'd learned more than I expected — and perhaps faster than I was ready for.
She didn't smile.
Not tonight.
But she stepped closer, voice low:
"Tell me the truth, Sylas."
"I always do."
"Then tell me this—"
She met my gaze.
"When you first started watching people… was it because you wanted to protect yourself?"
I held her gaze.
Then said, "No."
She waited.
"I watched because I knew no one would protect me."
She didn't respond right away.
But her hand moved — not to touch me, not fully.
Just… halfway there.
Then she let it drop.
---
"I'll never be soft again," she whispered.
"You were never soft," I said. "You just hadn't been sharpened yet."
And with that, she turned back toward her desk.
Opened a drawer.
Pulled out a folded parchment.
"What's that?" I asked.
"A letter," she said. "From Greystone's lady. Arrived last week. I read it four times."
"And?"
"She wants to arrange a betrothal meeting."
"Bold."
Seraphina looked at me, eyes cool.
"I already said no."
I raised an eyebrow. "Without consulting your father?"
"Yes."
She didn't waver.
"I'm not some prize to be bartered off for alliances," she said.
"And if he forces the issue?"
She smiled then.
But it wasn't warm.
"I'll let him think I've agreed. Then I'll make the entire thing collapse from the inside."
I watched her carefully.
She met my gaze.
"Too cruel?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Too clever."
She bowed her head in mock thanks.
"Then I learned from the best."
End of chapter