Seraphina's POV
The guards throw me into a stone cell beneath the palace, and I crash to the floor hard enough to taste blood.
The iron door slams shut with a sound like a coffin closing.
I lie there on the cold stones, my wedding dress spreading around me like a pool of white silk and shattered dreams. My knees are scraped. My veil is torn. But none of that hurts as much as the image burned into my mind—Celeste standing at the altar in my place, smiling like she'd won the greatest prize in the empire.
My sister.
My baby sister, who I protected from Father's harsh words. Who I helped with her studies when she struggled. Who cried on my shoulder when boys broke her heart.
She took everything from me.
Get up, a cold voice commands.
I lift my head. Commander Helena stands outside the cell bars, arms crossed, looking at me like I'm a bug she's deciding whether to crush.
The Golden Council is convening to decide your sentence, she says. Clean yourself up. You'll be presented in one hour.
My sentence? I push myself to sitting, ignoring how my hands shake. You already said I'm being sent to the Shadow Duke.
The Emperor said that. But the Council must vote to make it official. Helena's smile is sharp. Of course, they always vote exactly how the Emperor wants. But we maintain the illusion of fairness.
She walks away, her boots echoing down the corridor.
I'm alone in the darkness with only my thoughts—and they're screaming.
This was planned. Every detail, perfectly orchestrated. The forged letters in my handwriting. The paid witnesses. The timing, right at my wedding when everyone important would witness my humiliation.
But why? What did I do to deserve this?
The hour passes like a nightmare. Guards come to drag me from the cell. They chain my wrists together with iron shackles that dig into my skin. No one speaks to me. No one meets my eyes.
They march me through the palace corridors—the same halls I walked freely just this morning. Servants I've known for years press against the walls to avoid me, whispering. A few spit as I pass.
Traitor.
Spy.
Hope the Shadow Duke makes her suffer.
Each word is a knife, but I force my head high. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
The Council chamber doors open, and I'm shoved inside.
The Golden Council sits in a semicircle on raised seats—twelve of the empire's most powerful nobles, dressed in ceremonial robes. The Emperor sits highest, like a judge passing down sentences. Beside him, the Empress looks away when I enter.
My father sits in his Council seat, face expressionless.
Bring the accused forward, the Emperor commands.
Guards force me to my knees in the center of the chamber. The chains connecting my wrists rattle.
Lady Seraphina Ashcroft, the Emperor begins. You have been found guilty of high treason through overwhelming evidence. Normally, the penalty would be death. However, the Council believes a different punishment serves the empire better.
Here it comes. My death sentence, wrapped in pretty words.
You will be sent to the Shadow Marches, the Emperor continues. Married by force to Duke Cassian Nightveil as a peace offering between our territories. You will live there as his prisoner-bride, a symbol of what happens to traitors.
A few Council members shift uncomfortably. One—Lord Westmore, who once called me charming at a ball—looks vaguely sick.
But no one objects.
This is madness, I say, my voice steadier than I feel. I'm innocent. The evidence was fabricated. Someone is setting me up.
Enough, Father speaks for the first time, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. He stands, and every eye turns to him. I will not let this creature sully the Ashcroft name any further with her lies.
He looks directly at me, and there's nothing in his eyes. No love. No regret. Nothing.
This traitor is no daughter of mine, he declares. House Ashcroft formally disowns Seraphina. She is no longer entitled to our name, our protection, or our mercy. Whatever happens to her in the Shadow Marches is no concern of ours.
The words hit harder than the guards' fists.
He's not just letting this happen. He's part of it.
The realization crashes over me like ice water. Father isn't trying to save me because he doesn't want to save me. This serves some purpose I don't understand yet.
All in favor of the sentence? the Emperor asks.
Twelve hands raise in perfect unison.
The vote is unanimous. Seraphina—former Lady of House Ashcroft—you will be transported to the Shadow Marches within three days. Commander Helena will personally escort you. You are forbidden from contacting anyone in the Golden Court. Your possessions will be forfeit to the crown.
It's done. My entire life, erased in minutes.
One more thing, Father says, and something in his tone makes my blood run cold. My daughter Celeste has graciously agreed to salvage this disaster by marrying Crown Prince Lucian in her sister's place. The wedding will proceed this afternoon.
This afternoon. They're not even waiting a day.
The empire needs a Crown Princess, the Emperor agrees. Lady Celeste has proven her loyalty by revealing her sister's treason despite personal pain. She will make an excellent bride for my son.
My mind reels. Celeste revealed my treason?
Bring in Lady Celeste, the Emperor commands.
The chamber doors open again.
Celeste enters, and she's changed clothes—now wearing a golden dress that catches the light, making her look almost angelic. Her blonde hair is styled with fresh flowers. She looks every inch the perfect princess.
She walks to the center of the chamber and curtsies gracefully to the Emperor. Then—and this is what breaks something fundamental in me—she looks at me kneeling in chains and her eyes fill with crocodile tears.
Your Majesty, she says, voice trembling. I'm so sorry. I tried to protect my sister. I tried to ignore what I saw, to give her the benefit of doubt. But when I discovered the letters hidden in her room, when servants confided in me about her secret meetings, I couldn't stay silent. I couldn't let her betray the empire I love.
The lie is so smooth, so perfectly delivered, I almost believe it myself.
You did the right thing, the Emperor says gently. Your loyalty will be rewarded. You will make a fine Crown Princess.
Celeste dabs at her tears with a handkerchief. I only wish I had spoken sooner. Perhaps I could have saved her from this path.
I stare at my sister—really look at her—and see the truth I've been too blind to notice before.
She's not sad. She's not conflicted.
She's thrilled.
This is what she wanted. The crown. Lucian. My life.
Celeste, I say quietly. Every head turns toward me. Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm a traitor.
For just a heartbeat, her mask slips. I see calculation flash across her face—the same expression Father wears when he's maneuvering in court politics.
Then she meets my eyes and says clearly, You're a traitor, sister. I wish it weren't true, but the evidence doesn't lie.
But you do, I whisper.
Silence the prisoner, the Emperor snaps.
A guard hits me across the face. My head whips to the side, and I taste blood again.
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear the Emperor dismiss the Council. Hear him tell Celeste to prepare for her wedding. Hear my father accepting congratulations on his loyal daughter.
Guards haul me to my feet. As they drag me toward the doors, I look back one last time.
Celeste stands beside Father, accepting praise from the Council members. She's smiling now—not crying anymore. And when she thinks no one is watching, she touches the place where a crown will soon rest on her head.
The gesture is possessive. Triumphant.
She planned this.
The thought is so clear, so obvious, I don't know how I missed it before. The forged letters in my handwriting—Celeste has seen me write thousands of times. The servants who testified—all from my wing, where Celeste visits constantly. The perfect timing, the seamless execution.
My sister destroyed me to steal my life.
Guards march me back through the palace. We pass the cathedral, and through the open doors, I see preparations already underway for the afternoon wedding. The same flowers. The same decorations. The same everything.
Just a different bride.
We reach the palace courtyard where a prison wagon waits—iron bars, locked doors, meant for criminals being transported. Commander Helena stands beside it, arms crossed.
Get in, she orders.
The guards shove me inside. The cage smells like fear and old blood. They lock the door, and Helena climbs onto the driver's seat.
Three weeks to the Shadow Marches, she calls back to me. I hope you're ready for hell, traitor. The Shadow Duke doesn't treat his prisoners gently.
The wagon lurches forward.
As we roll through the palace gates, I crane my neck to look back one last time.
Cathedral bells are ringing—joyful, celebratory music for the wedding about to begin.
Through a high window, I see two figures standing close together.
Lucian and Celeste.
They're not looking at the crowd gathering below. They're looking at each other.
And then—in perfect synchronization, like they've done this before—they turn to look out the window. Straight at my prison wagon rolling away.
Even from this distance, I can see their expressions.
Lucian's mouth curves into a cold smile.
Celeste raises her hand in a tiny, mocking wave.
And both of them look absolutely, completely satisfied.
Like watching me be carted away in chains is the best entertainment they've had in years.
The wagon turns a corner, and they disappear from view.
But that image, those twin smiles of victory, burns itself into my brain.
This wasn't just Celeste's plan.
Lucian was part of it too.
The man I loved, who I thought loved me back, helped orchestrate my complete destruction.
But why? What could they possibly gain that was worth doing this to me?
The answer hits me like lightning as the wagon rolls past cheering crowds who think they're celebrating a traitor's punishment.
Power.
Celeste gets the crown and the prince she's always wanted.
Lucian gets a more controllable wife and an excuse to go to war with the Shadow Marches—something I know he's wanted for years but couldn't justify.
Father gets a daughter he can manipulate completely instead of one who might question his decisions.
And I get sent to die in a monster's lair, convenient and silent and gone.
They all win.
I lose everything.
The wagon picks up speed, carrying me away from the Golden City, away from everything I've ever known, toward a forced marriage with the empire's most dangerous enemy.
Toward Duke Cassian Nightveil, the Shadow Duke, who legend says kills his enemies slowly and tortures anyone who crosses him.
I should be terrified.
Instead, sitting in this cage covered in bruises and betrayal, I feel something else kindling in my chest.
Rage.
Pure, focused, burning rage.
They think they've destroyed me.
They think I'll disappear quietly into the Shadow Marches and be forgotten.
They have no idea what they've just created.
I press my shackled hands against my chest and make a silent vow:
I will survive this. I will find out the whole truth. And I will make every single person who betrayed me pay for what they've done.
The wagon rolls on through the afternoon sunshine, carrying me toward my doom.
Behind us, wedding bells ring out across the Golden City.
My sister is marrying my prince.
And I'm being delivered to a monster.
But maybe, just maybe, the monster isn't the one waiting for me in the Shadow Marches.
Maybe the real monsters are the ones I left behind, wearing crowns and smiling as they destroy an innocent woman.
Either way, this isn't over.
Not by a long shot.