I press a kiss to Mira’s warm forehead, whispering, “You’ll be fine, my love.”
Her eyelids flutter, heavy from exhaustion, the faint shimmer of fever lighting her cheeks. Ysabet adjusts her hold, wrapping Mira carefully in a wool blanket.
“I’ll take good care of her,” she promises, her voice calm but edged with weariness. “The healer in our village claims there’s a new method that might help weaken the curse’s grip. I’ll try it.”
I nod, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “Please… do whatever you must. Just bring her back to me safe.”
“I will.” Ysabet’s gaze softens. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take it from here for a while.”
I brush Mira’s curls back gently, memorizing every line of her face. “I’ll visit soon,” I whisper. “Very soon. Don’t you forget your mother, alright?”
Mira’s lips curve faintly. “Never.”
Her voice is barely a breath, but it cuts through me.
Ysabet adjusts the strap of her satchel and heads toward the door. “Rest when you can, Lara. You look half a ghost.”
I manage a weak laugh. “A ghost would be less tired.”
They leave. The sound of their footsteps fades down the corridor until only silence remains. The room feels colder without them.
I turn to gather my sewing things, ready to drown myself in work before my thoughts consume me—when the door opens again.
I frown, half-expecting Ysabet’s forgetful return. “Did you leave something—”
The words die in my throat.
Lady Seraphine stands in the doorway.
Her white gown glimmers faintly even in the dim light, her blonde hair braided with pearls, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. Arms folded, she regards me with the kind of calm that hides cruelty.
I exhale slowly. “As much as I’d love a morning chat, Your Highness, I have to return to work.” I move toward the door, but she shifts, blocking my path with a single graceful step.
“Not yet,” she says, her voice lilting, almost kind. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
Her smile deepens. “About secrets.”
My heart stumbles.
“I know your little secret, Lara.” Her tone drips with amusement. “Did you truly believe my dear prince could visit you so often without my notice? I’ve been patient, but patience has its limits.”
My throat goes dry. “You’re mistaken—”
“Am I?” She tilts her head. “Oh no, my dear. I know everything. Aldric’s late-night wanderings. His visits to the seamstress’s quarters. His sudden fondness for a sick little girl.”
A tremor passes through me.
Seraphine’s eyes glint like ice under candlelight. “You didn’t think I’d find out, but the walls in this palace whisper, Lara. And the best whispers come from your own friends.”
I take a step back. “What are you talking about?”
She smiles wider, her teeth white as marble. “Brina told me.”
The name crashes into me like a stone. “Brina?”
“She was quite apologetic about it,” Seraphine says, feigning a sigh. “But fear makes people honest. You should be grateful I know how to reward loyalty.”
I shake my head slowly, disbelief and rage tangling in my chest. “You’re lying.”
“Oh, sweet seamstress, lying is beneath me. I don’t need to. I already win.”
She takes another step forward. The air seems to hum faintly around her, like static before lightning.
“A bold move, I’ll admit,” she murmurs. “Catching the prince’s attention. I almost admire it. But you see, you’ve stepped too far. And I—” she leans closer, her perfume sweet and suffocating, “—I don’t forgive trespassers.”
My back hits the wall. My hand slides blindly toward the nightstand, fingers brushing the handle of a small pair of sewing shears.
Seraphine laughs, a soft melodic sound that chills me. “Oh, Lara. Did you think I’d harm you?”
Her eyes burn bright with something unnatural—green fire swirling within them.
I freeze. “What are you saying?”
“I heard your daughter has just left for the village,” she says lightly, as though speaking of the weather. “Is that true?”
My blood turns to ice. “Don’t you dare—”
“Don’t I?” She smirks, stepping back. “You’re not the only one who can love deeply enough to make mistakes.”
Before I can move, before I can even blink, her form dissolves — folds of silk and hair fading into mist. The air ripples, and she’s gone.
“No,” I whisper, ice cold panic ripping through me.
The sewing shears clatter to the floor as I bolt for the door.
***
The journey to the village is a blur. I run until my lungs burn, my skirts heavy with mud, the wind slicing at my face. The forest blurs past—branches scratching, roots catching, every shadow whispering Seraphine’s laughter.
When I reach the healer’s cottage, the world stands still.
The door hangs open.
Inside, the air reeks of smoke and bitter herbs.
“Ysabet?” I call, my voice breaking. “Mira?”
No answer.
I rush forward. The small bed by the wall is tangled with sheets, and on it—Mira.
She’s crying, her little hands clutching the blanket, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. Her body trembles violently, breath ragged. I fall to my knees beside her, gathering her into my arms.
“Shh, I’m here, I’m here,” I whisper, though my own voice trembles.
Her skin burns beneath my touch. Her veins pulse faintly with dark threads of shadow beneath the surface — the curse deepening, tightening its hold.
Then my gaze falls to the floor.
Ysabet lies there, unconscious, pale as snow, her potion bottles shattered around her like spilled stars.
“Ysabet!” I cry, shaking her shoulder. She doesn’t stir.
Panic claws at me. I turn back to Mira, brushing her hair back as she whimpers.
“Mama… hurts,” she murmurs weakly.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” My tears finally break free. “I’m so sorry.”
I pull her closer, rocking her gently. The ring on my finger — his ring — catches the dim light. It gleams faintly, cruelly, a reminder of the man who could have stopped this but doesn’t even know.
The air feels heavier, darker. Seraphine’s curse hums in the walls, unseen but alive.
I hold Mira tighter, whispering prayers I barely remember.
“Please,” I beg the gods, or fate, or anyone listening. “Don’t take her. Take me instead.”
Mira’s breathing evens for a moment, softening against my shoulder. I kiss her hair, tasting salt and fear.
Outside, thunder murmurs low across the hills. The serpent has struck for the second time — and I can already feel the venom spreading.