Seraphina
I was beginning to think rejection had cursed me in more ways than one. The court's whispers never faded, they only sharpened. Every corridor I walked down was filled with muffled voices
"She wasn't chosen… her bloodline is cursed… the prince felt nothing." Even servants stumbled over their words when they bowed, as though afraid my shame might infect them.
My mother never missed an opportunity to remind me that I had failed her, failed us all, while my father's health slipped further away each day. He had once been strong, commanding respect in every room, but now he barely had the strength to sit upright without coughing.
And me? My body ached constantly, sharp pains curling through my muscles and bones like invisible claws. Night after night I lay awake, sleepless, wondering if this was all I would ever be, unwanted, rejected, broken.
I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. So I escaped the only way I knew how, slipping into the city when the pain was unbearable, into the dimly lit inn where nobody cared who I was.
There, I wasn't the failed bride or the cursed daughter. I was just a woman with too much sadness in her eyes, drinking until her laughter sounded real. I thought the routine would numb me as it always did, but that night was different.
The moment I saw him, tall, dark, leaning against the corner table with a glass of wine he hadn't touched, I froze. There was something in his stillness that unsettled me, something in the way his eyes followed me like they already knew me. He wasn't like the others, the men who came here to forget their lives for a night. He looked like someone who remembered everything.
I don't remember how I ended up at his table, only that my body ached so badly I wanted to collapse. He didn't move when I sat down, just raised a brow as though amused I had chosen him. "You're staring," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, trying to mask the trembling in my hands.
"You've been staring at me first," he answered smoothly, his voice low, deep, carrying the kind of weight that made my skin prickle.
I scoffed, grabbing for the wine bottle and pouring myself far too much. "I wasn't staring. I was deciding whether you looked dangerous or just lonely."
"And your verdict?" he asked, watching me drink as though every movement mattered.
"Both," I said with a tired laugh, the bitterness slipping through despite my best efforts. The alcohol burned my throat, but I welcomed it. "But then, so am I."
His eyes didn't soften, but there was something in them, an understanding that rattled me more than pity ever could. "Why do you drink like you're punishing yourself?" he asked quietly.
I shouldn't have answered. I should've left the table and found someone who wouldn't care enough to ask. But the words spilled out of me before I could stop them.
"Because the gods choosed me, the priest appointed me, I was supposed to be the chosen one, but I wasn't. Because the gods or fate or whatever cursed nonsense rules this world decided I wasn't worthy. My prince turned his back on me before all of them. My mother calls me shameful. My body aches every second like I'm being torn apart from the inside. And maybe….." I slammed the empty glass down, my voice breaking, "....maybe if I drink enough, I won't feel like I'm slowly dying."
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. For once, I didn't regret speaking, because he didn't try to comfort me with lies or reach for me out of obligation. He simply looked at me, steady and unflinching, as though he could see the cracks in me and didn't recoil.
Finally, he said, "You're stronger than you think."
The laugh that broke from me was harsh. "Strong? I can barely stand without wanting to scream. My mark didn't glow. The prince didn't want me. What kind of strength is that?"
"The kind," he said, leaning forward, his eyes locking with mine, "that keeps you breathing when everyone else would have given up."
I don't remember what I answered after that, or if I even did. My vision blurred with tears and wine until the room tilted and I leaned against him, my body too tired to keep fighting. I expected him to push me away. Instead, he let me rest against his chest, and for the first time in months, the constant stabbing pain in my body dulled into silence. My breathing evened, the ache vanished, and the world slipped into black.
When I woke, the sunlight was cutting through the inn's curtains. The space beside me was empty. No trace of him remained, not a name, not a note, not even the press of warmth where his body had been. But the strangest part wasn't his absence, it was my own body.
I stretched slowly, waiting for the familiar ache to flare through me, but it didn't come. I felt… light. Whole. At ease in a way I hadn't thought possible anymore. Panic rushed through me as I scrambled to find him, to demand answers.
Who was he? What had he done to me?. I sent word to the staff, bribed the innkeeper, even ordered servants to scour the city for a man with eyes like night and a silence heavier than grief. But every report came back empty. It was as though he had never existed at all.
Days passed, and my father's illness worsened, his frail hand clutching mine as though he feared the world would take me, too. I couldn't tell him about that night. I couldn't explain the stranger who had taken away my pain only to vanish with it. Instead, I buried the memory like a secret I was too afraid to lose. But the thought of him clung to me, haunting my sleepless hours, making me wonder if fate had mocked me again or if it had finally left me a clue.
When my uncle's lunch invitation arrived, sealed in wax with his familiar crest, I should have ignored it. My instincts screamed that nothing good would come of it. But refusing him would only give the court another reason to whisper.
So I went, stepping into his grand home only to be met with a room full of guests. My stomach twisted, their laughter and voices filled the air, but I knew my uncle had not invited me here for "just lunch". He had invited me to put me on display, the disgraced niece, the cursed one.
And then it happened. A faint warmth flickered against my palm, pulling my gaze down. My breath caught. A glow…soft, faint, but real spiraled across the skin where the bond mark had once failed to appear.
My heart thudded painfully. No, it couldn't be. Not here. Not now. Dozens of people surrounded me, their chatter oblivious to the storm tearing through me. I curled my hand into my skirts, hiding the light before anyone could notice. Confusion, fear, hope all twisted together inside me.
Why now? Why here? And most of all, I th
ought I wasn't the chosen bride. What was really going on