The morning after the ball, a different kind of silence descended upon the de Winter estate. It was not the shocked silence of the ballroom, but a heavy, waiting quiet, thick with judgment and unspoken questions. I sat at the extravagant breakfast table, picking at a piece of fruit, feeling the weight of my father's stare from the head of the table.
Lord Everard de Winter was a man who valued social standing above all else, and his daughter had become a volatile stock. His expression was a complex mask of fury and calculation. My mother, a delicate woman who lived in a perpetual state of faint disapproval, merely sighed into her tea.
The silence was shattered by the arrival of a footman, his steps unnaturally loud on the polished marble. "My Lord, a… a representative from His Grace, the Duke of Blackwood, is here."
My father's head snapped up. The calculation in his eyes won out over the fury. "See him in."
The man who entered was as severe and crisp as the legal documents he carried. He introduced himself as Master Theron, the Duke's personal solicitor. He did not smile. He did not make small talk. He laid out the betrothal contract on the table between the silver platters and crystal glasses.
"His Grace has proposed most… generous terms," my father said, his eyes scanning the dowry arrangements—or rather, the lack of a demand for one. The Duke was, in fact, settling a significant sum upon the de Winter family. A payment for taking me off their hands. The message was clear, and it stung my pride, even as it secured my family's eager compliance.
"The Duke wishes for a swift and private ceremony," Master Theron stated, his voice devoid of inflection. "He intends to return to the North with his… bride… immediately following the wedding."
"Of course, of course," my father agreed readily, already signing the document with a flourish. There were no questions about my happiness, no concerns about the suddenness. I was a problem being efficiently solved.
I signed my new name—Seraphina—with a hand that only shook a little. The flourish was all her. The resolve behind it was all me.
The news broke like a thunderclap across the capital.
By afternoon, the first of the "well-wishers" arrived. Ladies I had once called friends, their eyes alight with vicious curiosity, came to pry details from me. I received them in the parlor, playing the part they expected.
"Oh, Seraphina, darling! The Cold Duke! How ever did you manage it?" cooed Lady Beatrice, her smile not reaching her cold eyes. "After that dreadful scene with the Prince… we were all so worried for you."
I offered a smile I'd practiced in the mirror—a slow, secretive, triumphant curve of the lips that was pure Seraphina. "Some gems are simply overlooked in a crowded room," I said, my voice a languid purr. "It took a discerning eye to recognize true value."
I saw the doubt in their eyes, the jealousy. They couldn't decide if I was brilliant or insane. It was exactly where I needed them.
The most anticipated visit came last. I was in the garden, trying to find a moment of peace, when a servant announced them.
Crown Prince Alistair and Lady Lily.
They made a stunning picture. Him, golden and handsome in his royal whites; her, a vision of gentle beauty in a soft pink gown, her brown eyes wide with a confusion that seemed genuine.
"Seraphina," the Prince began, his tone dripping with condescending relief. "We heard the news. I must admit, it's a… surprising match. But a prudent one. It's good to see you've come to your senses and given up on… unrealistic fantasies." His gaze flickered to Lily with adoration.
The old Seraphina would have screamed. She would have raged and cried. I felt the ghost of her anger stir in my chest, a hot, familiar impulse.
But I merely offered a cool, regal smile—one I had copied from my intended. "Unrealistic fantasies indeed, Your Highness," I agreed smoothly. "I've simply set my sights on a far more valuable prize. And a far more… stable… temperament."
The Prince's smug expression faltered. He hadn't expected calm acquiescence. He'd expected a scene he could dismiss.
It was Lily who stepped forward, her voice soft as morning dew. "We truly wish you happiness, Lady Seraphina. The North is said to be beautiful in its own way."
Her kindness was a weapon sharper than the Prince's disdain. It was utterly disarming. For a moment, I saw not the novel's protagonist, but just a young woman who believed she was being nice.
"Thank you, Lady Lily," I said, and my voice was slightly less guarded. "I intend to find out."
They left soon after, the Prince confused and slightly off-balance, Lily sending one last gentle look over her shoulder.
I stood alone in the garden, the weight of the performance finally settling on me. The anger was gone, replaced by a deep, hollow exhaustion. I had played the haughty villainess perfectly. I had secured my engagement. I had even managed to unsettle the Prince.
So why did I feel like I'd just locked another part of myself away in a gilded cage?
The answer came on a cold breeze that rustled the rose bushes. My freedom was an illusion. My survival depended on maintaining a flawless performance, forever. One misstep, one crack in the facade, and the man I was to marry had promised me a fate worse than death.
The engagement was the first lock snapping shut.