Seraphina's POV
The guards threw me so hard I crashed into a table.
Pain shot through my hip, but I bit my lip to keep from crying out. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
"Your new quarters, Your Highness," one guard sneered, making the title sound like an insult.
I looked up and froze.
This wasn't my tiny servant room with its thin mattress and cracked walls. This was a real bedroom—a royal bedroom with a massive bed, silk curtains, and furniture that probably cost more than I'd seen in my entire life.
The door slammed shut behind me. Lock clicked.
I stood slowly, my hip throbbing, and stared around the room.
I'd been in royal quarters like this once before. When I was five years old, before Mother decided I was worthless. Before she moved me to the servant halls and pretended I didn't exist.
The memories crashed over me—playing on soft carpets, sleeping in a bed that felt like clouds, Mother singing me lullabies before bed.
Before everything changed.
Before magic day ruined my life.
I pressed my hands against my face, forcing the memories away. That little girl was gone. She died the day Mother called her worthless.
A knock on the door made me jump.
"Come in," I called, my voice barely above a whisper.
Three servants entered carrying measuring tapes and fabric samples. They moved like ghosts, silent and quick.
"Arms up," one woman said flatly.
I raised my arms, and they started measuring me—around my waist, across my shoulders, down my arms. Their hands moved fast and cold, like touching me disgusted them.
Nobody spoke. Nobody looked at my face.
"What color do you prefer?" one servant asked, holding up fabric samples without meeting my eyes.
"I... I don't know. Whatever you think is best."
The servant dropped her hand. "It doesn't matter anyway. Just pick one."
My throat tightened. "White, then."
They measured in silence for what felt like hours. When one servant accidentally touched my hand, she jerked back like I'd burned her.
"Sorry," I whispered automatically.
She didn't respond. Just wiped her hand on her dress like I was diseased.
Finally, they finished and left without a word. Not even goodbye.
I was alone again.
I sank onto the bed—soft, so impossibly soft after years of sleeping on a thin servant mattress. But it felt wrong. Like I didn't belong here.
Because I didn't.
This was just a pretty cage. A place to keep me until the wedding. Until I died.
Hours passed. Darkness fell outside the windows. Nobody brought food. Nobody checked on me.
I curled up on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest, trying not to think about three days from now. Trying not to imagine King Caspian's cold touch freezing my heart.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps in the hallway. Slow, deliberate footsteps.
The lock clicked. The door opened.
Queen Isolde stepped inside.
My mother.
She looked exactly like always—beautiful, cold, perfect. Her ice-blue gown sparkled in the candlelight. Her silver hair was arranged in an elegant crown.
She looked at me the way someone might look at a stain on expensive fabric.
"Mother," I breathed, standing up quickly.
She didn't smile. Didn't move toward me.
This was the first time she'd spoken directly to me in years. The first time we'd been alone in a room together since I was a child.
I waited for her to say something kind. Something motherly.
Instead, she closed the door behind her and said: "You've finally found your purpose."
Her voice was flat. Matter-of-fact.
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"To die as the Winter King's bride and bring our family political favor." She said it like she was discussing the weather. "At least your existence will mean something in the end."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"You... you want me to die?" I whispered.
"Want?" Mother tilted her head. "I'm simply accepting reality. King Caspian's curse kills everything. You'll be dead within days of the wedding. But your sacrifice will strengthen our alliance with his kingdom. The other nobles will see our family as brave and generous for offering our daughter."
Our daughter. She made it sound like I was property.
"You could refuse," I said desperately. "You could tell him no. You're the Queen—"
"And risk insulting the most powerful king in the realm?" Mother laughed coldly. "Don't be stupid, Seraphina. This is the best outcome for everyone. You get to die with purpose instead of living as an embarrassment, and I get to finally be free of the shame you've brought me since birth."
Tears burned my eyes. "Did you ever love me?"
The question came out broken and small.
Mother stared at me for a long moment. Then she smiled—a terrible, cruel smile I'd never forget.
"How can I love something that brought me shame?" she said simply. "The day you were born without magic, you stopped being my daughter. You became a problem I couldn't solve. A stain I couldn't wash away."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
"I tried, you know," Mother continued, walking slowly around the room like she was inspecting it. "I tried to find you magic through potions and spells. I brought in the best healers and mages. All of them said the same thing—you're powerless. Defective. Broken."
She stopped at the window and looked out at the night sky.
"I should have sent you away when you were five. Hidden you in a convent or married you off to some minor lord in a distant kingdom. But your father convinced me to keep you. He said you were still our daughter."
Her voice turned bitter. "He died believing that. Believing you were worth something."
My father. I barely remembered him. He died when I was eight, and after that, Mother got worse.
"So I kept you," Mother said, turning back to face me. "But I made sure everyone knew you weren't really my daughter. Not the one that mattered. I gave you servant work. Kept you out of sight. Waited for an opportunity to get rid of you properly."
She smiled again. "And now the opportunity has arrived. King Caspian solves my problem for me. You'll die, I'll mourn publicly, and everyone will forget you ever existed."
I felt something crack inside my chest. Not my heart—that had broken years ago. Something deeper.
Hope. The tiny, foolish hope I'd been carrying that maybe, someday, Mother would see me. Love me.
That hope shattered into dust.
"Why?" My voice came out as a whisper. "Why did you hate me so much? I didn't choose to be born without magic."
"No," Mother agreed. "But you chose to survive. You should have died young from an illness or accident. That would have been merciful. Instead, you lived, reminding me every single day of my failure as a mother. Reminding everyone that the great Queen Isolde produced a defective child."
She walked to the door, her hand on the handle.
"Enjoy your last three days, Seraphina. Try to die with dignity. It's the only thing you can give me now."
The door opened.
"Mother, wait—"
She paused but didn't turn around.
"I forgive you," I said, tears streaming down my face. "For everything. I forgive you."
Mother's shoulders stiffened. For a moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—those words would reach her.
But then she laughed. Cold and sharp.
"I don't need your forgiveness, child. I need your death."
She left. The door closed. Lock clicked.
I stood there for a long time, tears falling silently.
Then I walked to the window and looked out at the moon—full and bright and beautiful.
"If I'm going to die," I whispered to the moon, to the universe, to whoever might be listening, "at least let it be quick. Please. Let the curse kill me fast so I don't have to feel anymore."
The moon didn't answer. It just hung there, cold and distant.
Like everything else in my life.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, closing my eyes.
Three days left.
Three days until I married the Winter King.
Three days until the curse ended my pain.
Maybe Mother was right. Maybe this was my purpose all along—to die and make everyone's life easier.
But then, through my tears, I saw something that made my heart stop.
A figure standing in the garden below. Tall and broad-shouldered, with silver-white hair that glowed in the moonlight.
King Caspian.
He was looking up at my window. Looking directly at me.
Our eyes met through the glass.
And slowly, deliberately, he raised one hand and pressed it against his chest. Right over his heart.
Then he mouthed two words I could read even from this distance:
I'm sorry.
My breath caught.
Why was he sorry? For choosing me? For condemning me to death?
Or for something else entirely?
Before I could process it, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
I stood at the window, my mind racing.
Everyone said King Caspian was a monster. A heartless killer cursed by the gods.
But monsters didn't apologize.
Monsters didn't look at you with regret in their eyes.
What if everything I'd been told was wrong?
What if the Winter King wasn't the villain in this story?
And what if dying wasn't the end I thought it was... but the beginning of something I couldn't imagine yet?