The great hall of Avalora's palace shimmered with sunlight that morning, every marble pillar draped in silks of pale gold and ivory. Courtiers bustled with a restless energy, voices overlapping in a symphony of speculation. The aftermath of the festival still lingered in their whispers, each retelling of the night shifting depending on who stood at the center of their circle. But one detail remained constant in every version of the tale: Lady Seraphina Valmoré had reemerged, and she had done so not meekly, but boldly.
Seraphina entered the hall with measured grace, her indigo gown trailing like a river of midnight, violet eyes cool and unreadable. Each step she took silenced those nearest to her, their curiosity sharpening into a blade of scrutiny. She could feel their eyes pressing into her skin, but instead of shrinking beneath their gaze, she let it feed her. In her past life, their disdain had crushed her spirit. Now, it was the fire that kept her heart alive.
Lady Evelyne was already at the center of attention, radiant in a gown of blush silk embroidered with pearls, her golden hair gleaming like a halo. She smiled sweetly as she spoke to a cluster of nobles, her voice a practiced melody. Yet when her eyes slid toward Seraphina, the angelic mask cracked for a fraction of a second. Seraphina caught it—a tightening of the jaw, a flare of envy in those delicate blue eyes—before Evelyne turned, laughter bubbling once more from her lips.
"My dearest nobles," Evelyne was saying as Seraphina drew near, "how blessed we are that our beloved Avalora continues to flourish in peace. The Spring Court Festival was a true celebration of harmony. Don't you think so, sister?"
Seraphina paused at her side, her gaze sweeping across the group of eager faces. "Harmony?" she echoed softly. "Yes, though I could not help but notice harmony looks different to every pair of eyes. To some, it is silence. To others, it is balance."
A ripple of murmurs followed her words, the nobles exchanging glances. Evelyne's smile faltered, but she recovered swiftly, linking her arm with Seraphina's in an exaggerated display of sisterly affection. "Seraphina always did enjoy riddles," she said lightly. "But let us not tire ourselves with philosophy. There are more pleasant matters to discuss—like the generous attention my sister has suddenly attracted."
The implication was sharp, Evelyne's voice honeyed but laced with poison. All heads turned, eager for scandal. Seraphina, however, only inclined her head, her lips curving faintly. "Attention, like fortune, often arrives uninvited. The question is not who receives it, but who knows what to do with it."
The nobles chuckled uneasily, torn between admiration and discomfort. Evelyne's grip tightened on her arm before she released her, her eyes gleaming with restrained fury.
From across the hall, Prince Kael watched the exchange with silent interest. Dressed in his customary black and crimson, he stood apart from the courtiers like a shadow among candle flames. His storm-gray eyes lingered on Seraphina, narrowing as though weighing her every word, every gesture. He was a man who measured people as he measured battlefields, and in Seraphina he was beginning to see not a pawn, but a piece capable of turning the board.
Crown Prince Lucien arrived soon after, drawing every gaze with his golden hair and immaculate attire. Evelyne's face brightened as if lit by sunlight, and she drifted swiftly to his side, clinging to his arm with practiced innocence. Lucien offered Seraphina a brief, dismissive nod before turning his full charm on Evelyne, praising her beauty, her grace, her "rare gift for uniting people." The courtiers melted under his words, but Seraphina stood apart, her eyes unreadable.
She remembered vividly the night he had abandoned her in her past life, his promises of love dissolving like ash in the wind. She remembered the cold weight of betrayal, the court's jeering faces as she was condemned. That memory burned in her chest like a coal, but she masked it beneath serenity.
Later that day, Seraphina excused herself from the hall and retreated to the gardens, craving solitude among the roses and marble fountains. The air was fresh with the scent of lilies, a welcome reprieve from the cloying perfume of court intrigue. She sat on a stone bench, tracing patterns in the fabric of her gown, lost in thought.
"Do you always court danger so boldly?"
She startled slightly at the voice and turned. Kael stood a few paces away, his arms crossed, his presence commanding even in stillness. The falcon crest of Drakoria gleamed faintly on his cloak clasp, his sword at his hip.
"Danger?" she repeated, raising a brow. "I merely spoke the truth."
Kael's gaze bored into her. "Truth is the most dangerous weapon in Avalora. More dangerous than any blade."
"Then perhaps it is time someone wielded it," Seraphina replied quietly.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the murmur of the fountain. Kael stepped closer, his shadow falling across her. "You play a game you cannot win alone. Evelyne and Lucien are not mere adversaries—they are vipers, shielded by power."
Seraphina lifted her chin, her violet eyes unwavering. "And you? What are you, Prince Kael? Another viper? Or the hawk that hunts them?"
His lips twitched, a near-smile that never fully formed. "Perhaps both." He studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head. "You are not the woman I expected. That intrigues me. But be warned, Seraphina. If you fall, I will not catch you."
And with that, he turned and walked away, his cloak sweeping the ground like a shadow fading into night.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, her heart pounding. His words had not been a promise, but a challenge. And she, reborn with fire in her veins, would not shy away from it.
That evening, Evelyne sat in her chambers with Lucien, her sweet façade slipping as anger bled through her voice. "She dares to stand against me, to draw attention from me. If she continues, she will unravel everything we've built."
Lucien sipped his wine lazily, his emerald eyes glinting with disdain. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear. Seraphina is a spark, nothing more. Sparks burn out quickly."
"No," Evelyne hissed, her angelic mask entirely gone. "She is more than a spark. She is a fire I thought extinguished. And if she is not put out again, she will consume us all."
Her words lingered in the air, sharp as daggers. But Seraphina, alone in her chamber across the palace, lifted her paintbrush with steady hands. She painted the silhouette of a hawk soaring over serpents, her strokes deliberate, her resolve unshaken.
For the first time in her two lives, she did not feel like prey. She felt like the storm about to break.