Three of them. Iris didn't know their names yet, hadn't had time to learn the faces that belonged to this borrowed life. They moved with practiced efficiency, hands reaching for her nightgown before she could protest.
"Arms up, Your Highness."
She raised them. What choice did she have?
The linen slid over her head. Cold air hit her bare skin and she flinched, fighting the urge to cover herself. These women had seen this body a thousand times. The original Seraphina wouldn't have blinked.
Iris wasn't the original Seraphina.
She stood naked in the center of the room while they circled her, assessing. One of them—older, grey streaking her hair, mouth set in a permanent line of disapproval—clicked her tongue.
"You've lost weight during your illness, my lady. The seamstress will need to adjust your gowns."
"I'm sure she will."
"The chemise first, Helena."
The youngest of the three,barely more than a girl, nervous hands, downcast eyes ,stepped forward with a garment of thin white cotton. Iris raised her arms again and let them dress her like a doll.
Layer after layer. The chemise. The stockings, rolled up her legs by hands that weren't hers. The petticoat, tied at her waist.
And then the corset.
Helena held it up.
"Turn around, Your Highness."
Iris turned,facing the window
The corset wrapped around her torso.
The first pull of the laces stole her breath.
"Hold the bedpost, my lady."
She grabbed it. Her knuckles went white.
Another pull. Tighter. Her ribs compressed. The boning dug into her flesh, reshaping her body into something it wasn't meant to be. She felt her organs shift, her lungs struggle to expand, her heartbeat quicken with panic.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't—
"Almost done, Your Highness."
Another pull. And another. Each one a reminder that this body wasn't hers, this life wasn't hers, this world had rules written in whalebone and suffocation.
Her vision spotted. Black edges creeping in.
And then—
Damien's hands on her waist.
The memory hit her without warning. His apartment. Morning light streaming through windows that needed cleaning.
She was making coffee. He came up behind her, still half-asleep, stubble rough against her neck as he nuzzled into her.
"Come back to bed."
"I have work."
"Work can wait." His hands slid under her shirt. Palms warm against her stomach. Fingers splaying across her ribs. "I can't."
She'd laughed. Turned in his arms. His hair was a mess, sticking up on one side, and his eyes were soft with sleep and want.
"You're impossible."
"You love it."
She did. God, she did.
His hands moved higher. Thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Her breath caught. The coffee was forgotten. Everything was forgotten except the heat of his touch, the weight of his gaze, the way he looked at her like she was the beginning and end of everything.*
"Iris." Her name in his mouth. Like a prayer "I—"
"Your Highness?"
The memory shattered.
Iris gasped. She was gripping the bedpost so hard her fingers ached. The corset was done, laced tight enough to crack ribs, and the three women were staring at her with concern.
"Are you well, my lady?" Helena's voice was small with Worry.
"Fine." The word came out thin. Breathless. "I'm fine."
"You went somewhere else," she said. "Just now. Where did you go?"
To a life I destroyed. To a man who doesn't remember me. To a morning I would sell my soul to relive.
"Nowhere." Iris released the bedpost. Straightened her spine despite the corset's protest. "Let's finish."
They dressed her in silence after that. A gown of deep blue silk, embroidered with silver thread at the bodice. Sleeves that covered her arms to the wrist. A neckline that revealed nothing.
Modest and Proper.
Her hair was pinned up. Curls arranged around her face in a style she didn't recognize. Pearls threaded through the dark strands.
When they turned her toward the mirror, a stranger looked back.
Beautiful,Regal and Empty.
Seraphina.
The name didn't fit. It sat wrong in her mind, like wearing shoes on the wrong feet. But it was the name she had to answer to now. The name she had to become.
"The prince is waiting, Your Highness."
Iris took one last look at the stranger in the mirror.
Then she followed them out.
The corridors stretched forever.
Stone walls. Tapestries depicting hunts and battles. Candles flickering in iron sconces, casting shadows that danced and twisted. The castle was beautiful in the way a mausoleum was beautiful—cold, grand, and full of the dead.
Her ladies flanked her. One on each side, one behind. An escort or a guard, she couldn't tell which.
Servants pressed themselves against walls as she passed, heads bowed, eyes averted. They didn't see her. They saw the title, the dress, the crown she didn't yet wear but would soon enough.
She was already disappearing.
Where is he?
The thought pulsed through her with every step.
They stopped before a set of double doors. Dark wood, carved with roses and thorns.
"The prince's private dining room," the older woman said. "He requested an intimate breakfast. Just the two of you."
The way she said intimate made Iris's skin crawl.
"Thank you. You may leave."
The women curtsied and retreated. Iris stood alone before the doors.
You can do this. You've faced worse. You've died. You've killed. You've made deals with monsters.
This is just breakfast.
She pushed the doors open.
The room was smaller than she expected. A fireplace crackling with fresh flames. A table set for two, crystal glasses catching the light. Windows overlooking a private garden, bare branches scratching against the glass like fingers trying to get in.
And Aldric.
He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Watching her enter with eyes that missed nothing.
"My bride." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. Nothing about him reached his eyes. "You look exquisite."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"Aldric. Please." He crossed to her. Took her hand. Pressed his lips to her knuckles. They were cold. "We're to be married. Formality seems redundant."
He pulled out her chair. She sat. His fingers grazed her shoulder deliberately ,before he took his own seat across from her.
The table was laden with food. Fresh bread, still steaming. Fruit arranged in crystal bowls. Meats and cheeses and pastries that would have cost a servant's monthly wages.
Iris wasn't hungry. Her stomach had turned to stone.
"Eat," Aldric said. "You need to regain your strength."
He served her himself. Placed food on her plate with careful precision. A slice of bread. A selection of fruit. A piece of cheese so pale it was almost white.
She didn't touch any of it.
"You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway."
It wasn't a request.
Iris picked up a strawberry. Bit into it. The sweetness turned to ash on her tongue.
Aldric watched her chew. Watched her swallow. Something satisfied settled into his expression.
"There. Was that so difficult?"
She said nothing.
He leaned back in his chair. Studied her with that unblinking gaze.
"You seem different," he said finally. "Since your illness."
Her blood chilled. "Different how?"
"I'm not sure yet." He picked up his wine glass. Swirled the contents. Red as blood against the crystal. "Your eyes, perhaps. They used to be so... resigned. Like a horse that's been broken. Now there's something else. Something behind them."
He drank. Set the glass down.
"I find I'm curious what it is."
She gave him nothing.
"I'm merely tired, Your Highness. Three days of sleep and I'm still exhausted. The physician says it may take weeks to fully recover."
"Aldric."
"Aldric."
The name felt like poison in her mouth.
He smiled again. That same empty smile. "The physician is a fool. I had him replaced this morning."
"Replaced?"
"He failed to diagnose what was wrong with you. I don't tolerate failure." He took another sip of wine. "The new physician will be more... thorough."
A threat. Everything he said was a threat, wrapped in silk and served with breakfast.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Iris said. "Whatever it was has passed."
"Has it?" He tilted his head. "I wonder."
Silence stretched between them. The fire crackled. Iris forced herself to eat another strawberry, then a bite of bread. Anything to avoid his gaze.
It didn't work. She could feel him watching.
"Tell me about Cassian."
The name hit her like a slap.
"I—what?"
"My cousin. Cassian." Aldric's voice was light. Conversational. "You were quite fond of him, weren't you? Before your engagement to me was announced."
Fond. As if love could be reduced to such a tepid word.
"We were childhood friends," Iris said carefully. "Nothing more."
"Nothing more." He repeated the words like he was tasting them. "That's not what I heard. I heard there were letters. Stolen moments in gardens. A rather passionate declaration in the library."
"That was before," Iris said. "Before the engagement. Before I understood my duty."
"Duty." He laughed softly. "What a lovely word. It covers so many sins."
He stood. Walked around the table. Stopped behind her chair.
His hands settled on her shoulders. Heavy. Warm through the fabric of her dress.
"I want to be clear about something, my love."
She couldn't turn. Couldn't move. Could only sit there, frozen, while his thumbs traced circles against her collarbone.
"I don't care about Cassian. I don't care if you loved him, or if you still love him. Hearts are fickle things, easily redirected with the right... motivation."
His hands slid lower. Brushed the tops of her breasts where they swelled above the corset's edge.
"What I care about is obedience. Loyalty. The understanding that you belong to me now, and nothing—not childhood sweethearts, not lingering feelings, not whatever fire I see burning behind your eyes will change that."
She couldn't breathe. The corset was too tight. His hands were too close. The room was too small.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Aldric."
He leaned down. His lips brushed her ear.
"Good girl."
Then he straightened. Walked back to his seat. Picked up his wine like nothing had happened.
"I have meetings this morning. My steward will escort you back to your chambers." He gestured toward the door. "We'll continue getting to know each other at dinner. I have so many questions about your... recovery."
Iris stood. Her legs felt like water.
"I look forward to it," she lied.
She made it to the door. Her hand closed on the handle.
"Oh, and Seraphina?"
She stopped. Didn't turn.
The wedding has been moved forward. Three weeks from today." A pause. She could hear the smile in his voice. "I find I'm impatient to make you mine. Officially."
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days until she belonged to him completely.
"How wonderful," she managed. "I'll inform my ladies to begin preparations."
"No need. I've already arranged everything. The dress. The flowers. The guest list. All you need to do is show up and say the words."
Of course he had. Of course she had no say in any of it.
"Thank you for your... thoroughness."
"I'm a thorough man my love ."
She opened the door. Stepped through. Let it close behind her.
The corridor was empty. Silent. She leaned against the wall and pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart slam against her ribs.
Three weeks.
Three weeks to figure out how to survive this. How to break the deal. How to reach Damien before Aldric destroyed them both.
It wasn't enough time.
It would have to be.