"Oh, Elara, thank the heavens you're here!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling just enough to sound genuinely distressed, but not broken. "Draven was just... he was hiding me."
Elara's eyes widened, her hands still cupping my face. "Hiding you? From what? From who?"
"From... from an enemy," I whispered, leaning into her, as if sharing a grave secret.
"I saw someone, a shadow, near my window. I was so frightened, and Draven... he brought me here, to keep me safe until he could be sure."
I glanced at Draven, a quick, almost imperceptible nod.
Draven, to his credit, didn't miss a beat. His initial surprise melted into a look of grave concern, perfectly mirroring Elara's.
"Indeed, Elara," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. "Seraphina was quite shaken. I merely ensured her safety until the guards could sweep the grounds. It seems to have been nothing, a trick of the light perhaps, but one cannot be too careful."
He gave me a look that was both a warning and a strange sort of approval.
Elara's face softened with relief, though a flicker of fear remained in her eyes. She hugged me tightly.
"Oh, Seraphina, you poor dear! Why didn't you say anything sooner? I was so worried!" She shot Draven a grateful, if still slightly bewildered, look.
"Thank you, brother, for looking after her."
"Of course," Draven replied, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he met my gaze over Elara's shoulder.
Elara pulled me gently towards the door. "Come, let's get you back to your chambers. You must be exhausted and still quite frightened."
***
It was already getting late in the night, the shadows in my chamber stretching long and jagged across the stone floor.
I sat on the edge of the sprawling bed, my hands moving mechanically as I arranged the clothes in my wardrobe.
My mind, however, was miles away, trapped in the silence of that other room where the letters still lay forgotten under the bed.
I was just about to surrender to sleep when a frantic knock rattled the heavy oak door.
"Come in," I called, pulling my robe tighter.
Lily slipped inside, her face pale and her breath hitching.
"My lady! You're alright." She clutched her hands to her chest, her eyes searching mine for any sign of injury.
"I was so afraid. No one ever offends the Duke and goes free. I thought for sure..."
"He wouldn't dare,"
I interrupted, my voice sounding more certain than I felt. I needed her to believe it, and I needed to believe it myself.
"I bear his name now. To ruin me is to ruin his own reputation, and Draven values nothing more than his pride."
Lily's tension broke into a fragile smile, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"I hope you are right, my lady. But Lady Beatrice... Draven's mother... she has called a mourning dinner. To honor the souls of the men lost in the skirmish."
The air left my lungs. My heart didn't just ache; it felt crushed. Beatrice wasn't honoring the dead; she was weaponizing them.
She wanted me to sit at her table, surrounded by the ghosts of the men I had caused to fall, and force me to swallow my guilt with every bite. It was a calculated humiliation.
"My lady," Lily continued, leaning in until her whisper felt like a draft of cold air. "You must be cautious. Lady Beatrice is a very deceitful woman. She hides a dagger behind every—"
My hand froze on the silk of my sleeve. A jagged memory from the book I'd read in my past life surfaced—a blurred scene of betrayal. I couldn't recall the exact page, but I knew Lily had once traded my secrets to that woman. The warning felt like a trap in itself.
"That is enough, Lily," I said, my voice dropping to a calm, icy level that made her flinch.
I dismissed her with a sharp flick of my wrist. I didn't want her help, and I certainly didn't want her pity.
I stood up and chose a gown of charcoal silk—muted enough for mourning, but tailored with a sharpness that felt like armor.
As I stepped out of my chambers, the guards at the door snapped to attention, the heavy thud of their boots echoing through the dark corridor.
I didn't glance at them. I kept my chin high, my gaze fixed on the torch-lit path to the dining hall.
I was walking into a lion's den, and I had to decide right now: would I be the prey, or the hunter?
The dining hall felt like a tomb. As I entered, my breath hitched. Draven was already there, sitting with a terrifying calmness, his dark eyes tracking my every movement.
Our gaze met, and for a second, the air between us felt electric—heavy with things unsaid.
But my blood ran cold when I saw the guest seated near him: Duke Stephen.
I recognized him instantly from the plot of the novel.
He was Draven's "friend," the snake who had planted the idea of this marriage in Draven's head just to watch him suffer.
He thought he was trapping Draven with a useless, cruel woman, never realizing she wasn't that person anymore. He didn't know I was Melanie now, trapped in Seraphina's skin.
Stephen leaned back, a smug, oily smile playing on his lips as he watched me approach.
Beside him, Lady Beatrice sat like a queen on a throne of bones, her eyes gleaming with the anticipation of my humiliation.
"Ah, the guest of honor," Beatrice said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Do sit, Seraphina.
We were just discussing the brave men who fell today. I'm sure you have much to say about them."
I felt the weight of the room shifting against me. Draven's silent observation was a pressure on my skin, while Stephen's mocking grin dared me to trip
I didn't lower my gaze. Instead, I pulled out my chair with deliberate, slow grace, the wood scraping against the stone floor—a small, sharp sound in the stifling silence.
I took my seat, meeting Stephen's smug look with a blankness that made his smile flicker.
"I have much to say, Lady Beatrice," I began, my voice clear and steady. "But I find it curious that we 'mourn' with imported wine and a five-course meal.
If the goal is to truly honor the fallen, perhaps the focus should be on the families they left behind, rather than a performance of grief at a dinner table."
The clinking of silverware stopped. A collective intake of breath swept through the guests.
I saw the other Duchesses exchange bewildered looks—this wasn't the volatile, screaming Seraphina they expected. This was someone calculated.
Stephen's eyebrows shot up. "A bold suggestion," he purred.
"Though one might think the Lady of the house would be more concerned with her own role in their... unfortunate end."
"The role of a leader is to carry the weight of loss, Duke Stephen," I replied calmly.
"Just as the role of a true friend is to offer counsel that builds a house up, rather than planting seeds that tear it down."
The silence that followed was deafening. Before another word could be uttered, the chair beside me screeched back.
Draven stood, his presence towering and suffocating. Without a word, his hand clamped firmly around my arm.
"Excuse us," he said, his voice a low vibration of restrained fury.
He marched me out of the hall and into the shadows of the stone corridor, pinning me against the cold wall.
His hand moved to my chin, gripping it firmly, forcing me to look up into the storm of his dark eyes.
"Do not dare me, Seraphina," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "I brought you here to sit and be silent, not to play philosopher.
You are on thin ice. Shut your mouth and stay in your place, or I will ensure you never have a voice to use again. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I whispered, my eyes locked on his.
He lingered for a second, his grip tightening just enough to be a warning, before he released me. He straightened his tunic and gestured back toward the hall.
We walked back in, the room falling silent again as we took our seats. Draven looked satisfied, likely expecting me to sit like a doll for the rest of the night.
But as the servant poured the next round of wine, I looked directly at Lady Beatrice and the stunned guests.
"As I was saying before the interruption," I continued, my voice even louder and more composed than before,
"honoring the dead requires more than just silence. It requires the truth about why they were sent there in the first place."
Beside me, I felt the air around Draven turn murderous. Stephen's wine glass paused halfway to his lips, his eyes widening in genuine shock.
Beatrice's smile didn't falter, but her eyes turned predatory. "You speak of truth and honor so eloquently, Seraphina," she said, her voice dropping to a silken, terrifyingly soft whisper.
"But perhaps the most painful truth is that those souls wouldn't have been lost at all... if you hadn't seen fit to drug my son on the eve of battle."
The room plunged into a suffocating silence. I could hear the flickering of the candles and the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart.
Beside me, the table groaned under the pressure of Draven's tightening fist. I didn't have to look at him to feel the murderous intent radiating off his body; he was already calculating the punishment he would deal me once the doors were locked.
Stephen leaned back, his eyes dancing with malicious glee. He had come to watch a tragedy, and Beatrice had just delivered the climax.
I took a slow breath, letting the weight of the accusation settle before I spoke. I didn't flinch.
"The treachery of a wife is a heavy word, Lady Beatrice," I said, my voice cutting through the tension with a sudden, sharp authority.
"But it is a burden worth carrying if it involves saving the life of her husband. I did what the council wouldn't dare—I ensured the Duke remained within these walls when the air smelled of nothing but a setup.
I would rather be hated for his safety than celebrated for his widowhood."
The guests gasped, their eyes darting between me and the silent, vibrating fury of the man beside me.
They weren't just shocked; they were baffled. The Seraphina they knew was a spiteful child, not a woman justifying treason as an act of protection.
Before Beatrice could reclaim her voice to strike back, Draven's hand shot out, his fingers locking around my wrist like a shackle.
The sheer force of his grip made me go still. He didn't look at his mother. He didn't look at Stephen.
He looked only at me, his eyes dark with a promise of retribution that made my skin crawl.
"The dinner is over," Draven said, his voice a low, terrifying growl that brooked no argument.
He didn't make a scene. He didn't shout. He simply stood and wrapped his fingers around my hand.
His grip wasn't a caress; it was cold, unyielding iron that locked my bones in place.
He began to walk, pulling me along with a terrifyingly calm pace that was far more unnerving than a fit of rage.
As we passed the rows of stunned guests, the air felt thick with their whispers. I didn't look back at Beatrice's livid face or Stephen's calculating stare.
My focus was entirely on the man beside me.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my cold skin.
"You truly are a creature of infinite surprises, Seraphina," he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating growl that only I could hear.
"But you made a grave mistake tonight. You defied me in front of my own court. Your punishment will be severe."
I didn't pull away. I kept my stride even with his, my heart thundering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
He didn't lead me back to my own chambers. Instead, we turned down the corridor that led to the East Wing—the Duke's private quarters.
My breath hitched. In all the days of our marriage, I had never crossed this threshold. This was his sanctuary, his fortress, and now, it was to be my cage.
He pushed the heavy double doors open and hauled me inside, the click of the lock behind us sounding like a final judgment.
The room was vast, filled with the scent of sandalwood and old parchment, shadows dancing in the firelight.
He let go of my hand, but only to turn and face me. He stood between me and the door, his silhouette towering in the dim light.
"Now," he said, the calm in his voice finally fracturing to reveal the raw, jagged fury underneath.
"Tell me why I shouldn't lock you in the dungeon this very night for the things you dared to say at that table."