The room was dark—an intentional darkness, not a circumstantial one.
She stood rigid before the mirror, her black-veiled gown pooling at her feet, the fabric clinging to her curves like liquid shadow. Yet even the gown could not absorb the stillness in her eyes, the eerie calm that refused to break.
Slowly—so slowly—she turned to the window, where green climbing vines had nearly swallowed the frame whole. Outside, her younger brother swung a wooden sword, laughing with his friends. A faint smile touched her lips. When she left this house, he would become Lord. Finally.
They had both once believed she would be Lady Seraphine Veyra, heir to their house. But the High King was never above sacrificing his orphaned niece for the sake of a fragile peace.
She had wanted to resist. The gods knew she had the power.
But when her brother was threatened, she understood—she could not fight an entire kingdom to protect him. Her little brother, with his bright eyes and shrewd mind for politics, would lose everything if she refused the King's demand… and the crowd's will.
It was almost laughable.
For years, they had called her bloodline cursed—tainted by witches, vampires, and devils. And that was the very weakness the King exploited to make her submission seem righteous. In exchange for her obedience, he would elevate her brother, mentor him, grant him the privileges of a prince. She knew, with painful clarity, she could never give him that on her own.
Not in a kingdom that feared her—a kingdom that whispered she was evil.
A rumor they didn't know was true.
A soft, final smile graced her lips as she turned from the window. The black veil shifted like smoke around her face. It was time to go—to walk to her own wedding.
At least they had let her wear her favorite color.