Thunder rumbled in the distance as the carriage rolled to a stop before the crumbling gates of House Valen.
The guards, confused and shaking, scrambled to open them. They had never received such a visit. Not from her. The Drakemire banner whipped in the wind—black and crimson, bearing the sigil of a serpent-like dragon devouring a crown.
No one came out of the carriage at first.
Then the door opened.
A tall woman stepped down.
She didn't need an escort. She was the storm.
Lady Seraphina Drakemire was dressed in tailored red leathers, a high collar framing her sharp jawline. A long braid of midnight hair spilled over one shoulder, streaked faintly with silver like a scar. Her crimson eyes scanned the estate with casual disdain.
Her boots echoed down the stone steps as if daring the earth to challenge her.
Behind her, six armored knights followed—but none dared walk beside her.
The Lord of House Valen rushed to greet her, bowing stiffly, sweating despite the cold.
"L-Lady Drakemire, we were not expecting—"
"I don't care," she said without looking at him.
Her voice was calm, but not soft. It had the weight of command—final, cold, and unquestionable.
"I'm not here for you."
She walked past him without permission.
"Where's the boy?"
---
Joe was in the greenhouse.
It was the only place no one else cared about. Quiet. Warm. Safe.
He was crouched beside a broken pot, trying to replant a delicate purple bloom. His hands were covered in soil. His sleeves were rolled up. He didn't hear the heavy boots approach behind him.
Not until the shadow fell over him.
He turned—and froze.
The first thing he noticed were her eyes.
Red. Sharp. Alive.
Like fire hidden behind glass.
Joe stood too quickly and stumbled back, nearly tripping over a watering can. His heart was racing. She was close. Too close. The smell of leather, smoke, and some faint, spiced perfume filled the space between them.
"You're Joe," she said, stepping forward.
He nodded, stunned. "Y-Yes. I mean… yes, my lady."
She tilted her head. "You're even softer than I expected."
Joe flushed. "I—I'm sorry."
Her gaze flicked to the flower he had been saving.
"You like delicate things."
"I… don't like seeing things hurt."
She stepped forward again until there was barely an inch between them.
"Good," she whispered. "You're exactly what I want."
Joe blinked. "You… want?"
She reached out and touched his chin gently. Her gloves were warm.
"I'm going to marry you."
---
The words dropped like swords between them.
Joe stood frozen.
"W-Why me?"
"Because I don't want someone who'll challenge me," she said simply. "I want someone who's loyal. Who won't lie to me. Someone I don't have to watch with a dagger under my pillow."
Joe's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Seraphina leaned close, her voice dropping.
"You look like the type of boy who'd rather die than hurt someone."
He swallowed.
"I like that."
---
She stepped back at last.
"I'll send for your things in the morning. The wedding is in two weeks."
Joe's head spun.
"Wait—I… don't I get a choice?"
She turned toward the door.
"You can say no, Joe. But I promise…" She looked over her shoulder, eyes blazing. "No one else will protect you like I will."
And then she was gone.
Leaving the broken flower, the shaken boy, and the promise of a marriage that would change everything.