By late afternoon, the light in Valemont Hall had softened into amber hues that gilded the high ceilings and caught the motes of dust drifting through the air. The estate was quiet — too quiet.
A servant came knocking at both their doors, summoning the sisters to their father's study.
Seraphina exchanged a glance with Selene before descending the staircase. The unease of the morning still lingered between them, unspoken yet heavy.
Lord Valemont's study was dimly lit, the curtains drawn halfway to block the glare of the lowering sun. Shelves of old ledgers and books crowded the walls, and on the desk before him lay a sealed parchment stamped with the royal crest.
Their father stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. His face was composed, but the lines around his eyes had deepened.
When the door closed behind them, he turned.
"My daughters," he began, his voice calm yet weighty, "you are no longer children. The time has come to think of your place in this realm."
Selene and Seraphina stood side by side. Neither spoke.
He gestured toward the parchment. "A letter came from the capital this morning. Lord Devan's house has proposed an alliance. He has spoken highly of our family, and of his admiration for you, Selene."
Selene's brows furrowed slightly, though she kept her posture straight. "An alliance, Father?"
"Yes," he said. "A union that would strengthen our standing at court. His loyalty is valuable — and his reputation impeccable."
A quiet pulse of dread tightened Seraphina's chest. She felt her sister stiffen beside her.
Selene's gaze flickered briefly toward Seraphina before she spoke. "Father," she began carefully, "Lord Devan is indeed an honorable man, but… I believe his attention is better suited elsewhere."
Lord Valemont turned, brows arching. "Elsewhere?"
Selene's voice was steady, though her fingers knotted together in front of her. "Seraphina and he share a certain understanding. It would be unjust to both of them if I—"
"Enough," their father interrupted, his tone firm. "This is not a matter of sentiment, Selene. It is a matter of duty."
Seraphina's breath caught. "Father, please—"
He raised a hand to silence her. "I will not have you interfere, Seraphina. Your sister's match may secure this family's legacy."
The room fell into a strained silence. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters softly, like a whisper pressing against the walls.
Selene took a slow breath, her expression calm but eyes glistening faintly. "Then allow me time, Father," she said quietly. "If this is to be my duty, I will fulfill it — but not without thought."
Lord Valemont studied her for a long moment, then nodded curtly. "You have until the week's end."
He turned back toward the window, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
The sisters left the study in silence. In the corridor, the sunlight had already dimmed, and the air felt colder.
Selene stopped halfway up the stairs. "He means well," she murmured, though her voice trembled.
Seraphina stared at her, searching her face. "And what do you want, Selene?"
Selene hesitated — just for a moment — then whispered, "I don't know anymore."
That night, Valemont Hall slept beneath a restless moon. The corridors lay hushed, the air thick with the scent of rain drifting through the open windows. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled faintly — a promise rather than a threat.
Seraphina sat by the hearth in her room, unable to rest. The flames had dwindled to embers, their glow casting long, crooked shadows across the floorboards. Her father's words still echoed in her mind — the weight of his decision pressing like a hand on her chest.
She turned toward the window, the night mist soft against the glass. Somewhere beyond the gardens, a horse neighed softly.
Her heart skipped.
A knock came — soft, deliberate.
She froze.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice low.
The door opened a fraction, and Lord Devan stepped inside, his cloak damp with rain, his expression drawn and tense.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said quietly, closing the door behind him. "I came as soon as I could."
Seraphina rose slowly from her chair, startled. "Lord Devan… what are you doing here? My father—"
"Would not approve," he finished for her. "Yes, I know. That is precisely why I had to come in secret."
She frowned, her pulse quickening. "If this is about Selene—"
"It is," he interrupted, stepping forward just enough for the firelight to touch his face. "Your father intends to make a proposal on my behalf. But I give you my word, Lady Seraphina, it was not my choice."
Her breath hitched slightly. "Then whose was it?"
"The council's," he said bitterly. "Your father believes it best for the house. And the King's advisors… they see Selene as the ideal match — poised, diplomatic, and untouched by scandal."
Seraphina's voice trembled despite herself. "And me?"
Devan's eyes softened. "You are too much like your aunt," he said quietly.
That silenced her.
He continued, his voice low. "The court remembers her — her beauty, her defiance, her tragedy. Some still whisper her name. To them, you are a reminder of the past they'd rather forget."
Seraphina turned away, staring into the dying embers. "Then why come here, my lord? To remind me of what I cannot be?"
"No." His tone was earnest now. "I came to tell you that I never agreed to this. Not as they think. I cannot dishonor you, nor deceive your sister."
The words lingered in the stillness, trembling in their honesty.
Outside, a sudden gust of wind slammed the window shut with a sharp crack. Seraphina flinched.
For a moment, both glanced toward the sound — and in the reflection of the windowpane, Seraphina thought she saw a faint outline behind them. A woman's silhouette. Watching.
But when she turned, the space was empty.
Devan noticed her pale expression. "Are you well?"
"Yes," she lied, forcing composure. "It's nothing — just the wind."
He bowed slightly, stepping back toward the door. "I shall leave before I cause more trouble. I only ask that you believe me when I say… none of this was my choosing."
Seraphina's voice softened. "I believe you, my lord."
Their eyes met — not in longing, but in shared understanding, heavy with the weight of duty neither had asked for.
When the door closed behind him, the candlelight flickered violently.
Seraphina turned back toward the window, her reflection trembling in the glass.
Behind it — for a fleeting moment — stood the figure of a woman in pale silver, holding a child's hand.
Then the glass went still.