Chapter 2
1048words
Her naive father, the Duke of Lunaria, still believed the king's summons meant reconciliation. Only Seraphina recognized the butcher's gentle stroke before the slaughter. The capital wasn't the seat of power but the nest of her enemies—a gilded cage reeking of perfume, lies, and deadly schemes.
She had one purpose for this journey: to find the hammer that could shatter her cage before its locks snapped shut forever.
The Saint Grace Day welcome banquet filled the palace's golden hall. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the dome like cascading stars. Musicians played in alcoves while perfumed nobles glided across marble floors, the air thick with ambition and expensive wine.
Prince Lucien held court at the center, a moon orbited by sycophantic stars. Spotting Seraphina, he glided over with practiced charm, capturing her hand for a delicate kiss.
"My dear Seraphina," his voice purred with magnetic insincerity, "you look rather tired. I presume it's due to those... unfortunate family matters? Rest assured, once we're married, I'll protect you from such unpleasantness."
His words hung in the air—both promise and threat.
Seraphina smiled with practiced grace, subtly reclaiming her hand.
"How thoughtful, Your Highness," she replied, her voice gentle yet carrying to nearby ears. "Family honor, like kingdom borders, is best preserved by preventing unwanted intrusions. Perhaps we've all learned from recent... experiences."
With that single barb, she deftly pinned responsibility for the "disturbance" on Lucien and his morally bankrupt admirer. His smile froze momentarily before snapping back into place.
Dismissing him with her eyes, Seraphina scanned the crowd until her gaze locked onto a figure at the hall's far end.
There stood a tall figure alone by the balustrade, nursing a glass of red wine, utterly detached from the surrounding pageantry. His sharply tailored black military dress uniform bore no gaudy medals, yet he radiated more authority than anyone present. The "Iron-Blooded Duke," Tristan de Montfort.
As if sensing her scrutiny, Tristan raised his eyes, his penetrating gaze cutting through the glittering crowd to meet hers. No nod. No smile. Just a brief, assessing exchange.
Yet Seraphina understood his meaning perfectly. He was studying her—a predator watching an unusual prey that had wandered into his domain.
In the days following the banquet, the capital maintained its serene facade, but Seraphina felt the dangerous undercurrents. She instructed her trusted maid Ella to "accidentally" leak information: that Lady Seraphina, consumed by spiritual torment, would visit the Royal Cathedral alone each night for evening prayers.
The bait was set. In her previous life, Lucien had specialized in orchestrating the vilest scandals in sacred places.
To catch her fish, she needed a skilled hunter. Under the guise of scholarly research, she requested a rare tome on the Second Border War from the royal library—knowing full well it belonged to Tristan's personal collection.
As expected, the following day brought a summons to Duke Tristan's temporary study in the palace.
The study, like its master, was austere and functional. Tristan placed the leather-bound tome on his desk with a thud. "You requested this?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Seraphina replied with calculated deference. "The 'Double Pincer Attack' described here mirrors my father's strategy against the Black Forest rebels. I'm eager to study it further."
As she spoke, she opened the book to a tactical diagram. "See here... just as tonight at the Royal Cathedral, the enemy prepares an ambush to trap incoming reinforcements..." Her words flowed naturally, as if genuinely discussing military strategy, but "tonight," "Royal Cathedral," and "ambush" landed with deliberate emphasis.
Tristan's eyes remained on the page, but his finger tapped precisely on the "ambush" position. He said nothing, but Seraphina knew her message had landed.
Meanwhile, a secret message reached house-arrested Isabel: "Lucien faces danger. Hurry to the cathedral's rear hall, create a distraction, and draw away the king's guards. This is your only chance for redemption."
Desperate and isolated, Isabel seized this "lifeline" without question.
That evening at the Royal Cathedral...
Prince Lucien, wearing an expression of manufactured distress, hurried the king toward the church's inner sanctum. "Father, I can scarcely believe Seraphina would meet a common knight in secret! For our family's honor, we must intervene!"
The king's face darkened, his disappointment in his future daughter-in-law evident.
When they burst through the rear hall doors, the scene before them froze everyone in shock. A young knight wrestled with a disheveled Isabel, who shrieked, "Let me go!"
Lucien's mind reeled. Isabel?! How could this be?!
The king's fury found its target: "What madness is this? Guards! Seize these shameless creatures at once!"
A calm voice cut through the chaos from across the chamber.
"Your Majesty, I wasn't aware the Royal Cathedral had become a venue for amateur theatrics. Most disturbing to the peace."
All eyes turned to find Duke Tristan and Lady Seraphina standing side by side beneath moonlit stained glass. An ancient military text lay open before them on a stone table. They appeared utterly composed, as if the commotion were merely an irritating distraction from their scholarly discussion.
Tristan's icy gaze swept over Lucien's ashen face. "I invited Lady Seraphina here to discuss her father's defensive strategies. I hardly expected to witness the crown prince staging such... theatrics."
The next day at the Royal Council...
Before the assembled nobility, the Duke of Lunaria formally requested to annul his daughter's engagement to Prince Lucien. His reasoning cut like a blade: "His Royal Highness repeatedly falls prey to manipulators of questionable character. Such poor judgment in associates and such inconstancy of temperament make him unsuitable not only for my daughter but for the crown itself."
The council chamber erupted. Just as Lucien opened his mouth to protest, a cold voice sliced through the clamor.
"I second the motion."
Tristan de Montfort rose from his seat. With those four words, the matter was settled.
That evening, in a deserted palace corridor, Seraphina found herself face to face with Tristan.
Studying the woman who had orchestrated such chaos with perfect composure, Tristan finally asked: "What do you want?"
Seraphina met his inscrutable gaze, an enigmatic smile playing at her lips.
"What I want, Your Grace," she said softly, "is something only you can provide."
