[Seraphine’s POV]
A sharp ache in my upper arm dragged me from sleep. For a moment I stared at the canopy, mind blank. Then the memories of last night slammed back:
The feast. The knock. Aldric’s hand on me, and my palm across his face.
I pushed up and shoved my sleeve aside. Bruises wrapped my arm like a dark, ugly necklace—five perfect ovals where his fingers had dug into me.
My stomach lurched. I pressed my other hand over my abdomen: the instinctive, desperate reassurance that the child was still there. Still hidden.
I cracked the door open to signal I was awake. Voices drifted from the corridor, clipped and nervous.
“…His Majesty threw a goblet—”
“—sent the council away—”
“Something happened with the foreign queen. He was furious.”
Foreign queen. Always foreign, never wife or anything human.
I shut the door quietly and leaned my forehead against the wood. His anger was bad, but his silence was worse. He was in a foul mood. Good. Let him rage at tables and goblets and cowardly lords. But rage turned, eventually. And I knew where it might land.
Three soft taps and one followed—Elowen’s signal. “Come,” I said.
She entered carrying her basket, took one look at me, and her jaw clenched. “Sit.”
I obeyed. She pushed my sleeve up and inhaled sharply. “Gods, Sera.”
“It looks worse than it feels,” I lied.
“It looks like he tried to crush your arm.” Her tone darkened. “Hold still.” The salve she spread was cool, smelling of comfrey and sharp herbs. I winced.
“He used his hand. Should I be grateful it wasn’t a blade?” I muttered.
Her eyes snapped up. “Don’t jest about this.”
“I’m not.”
“You struck King Aldric,” she hissed. “Do you want to die?”
“I want not to be owned,” I shot back. “I won’t bow just because he wants something.”
She worked the salve in harder than necessary. “You might have managed to provoke both his temper and the entire court.”
“He had no right.”
“In this palace,” Elowen said bitterly, “he has every right. That’s what frightens me.”
We stared at each other until her expression softened with something like grief.
“You must be careful,” she murmured. “Not only for yourself. For the baby.”
I flinched, and she noticed that immediately.
“Sera,” she whispered, gentling her touch, “if he learns you’re carrying his heir, everything changes. He will claim the child. And you know what being mother to a royal heir means.”
My throat tightened. “A lifetime of being watched. Controlled. Used.”
“And more,” she said. “Heirs become pieces on a board. You think he’ll let you raise it as you choose? You think Blackthorn will allow an Eryndale queen to shape their future king?”
The truth pressed on my lungs like a stone. “So what am I to do?” I whispered. “Be meek? Pretend last night didn’t happen?”
“You’re to survive long enough to make the choices that matter,” Elowen said. “One reckless moment could destroy you and the child.”
I drew a shaking breath. “I won’t be broken the way he broke Eryndale.”
For a heartbeat, grief flickered across her face. She tied a strip of linen around my arm.
“You are stubborn,” she muttered.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t praise.”
“I know.”
She stood to leave. “I’ll bring more salve tonight. And Seraphine—step carefully today. The walls have ears.”
***
By midday, the castle atmosphere had curdled. Servants moved faster, along the walls, eyes down. Courtiers whispered in tight clusters, glancing toward the king’s wing.
“They say he broke the arm of a captain who brought bad news,” a maid murmured near my door.
“No wonder,” another replied. “His Majesty hasn’t been this furious in months.”
They avoided my name, but fear thrummed beneath their words.
As hours passed, the dread in my stomach deepened. Aldric’s rage was dangerous, but his quiet control was worse. He would not let last night go. He’d turn it over like a stone in his palm, examine every angle, find a way to make me regret it.
By late afternoon, a steward appeared at my threshold, pale as milk.
“His Majesty requests your presence in the inner council chamber,” he said. “Immediately, Your Majesty.”
Requests. As if refusal was ever an option.
I smoothed my gown, straightened my shoulders, and nodded. “Very well.”
The walk felt endless. Tapestries of Aldric’s victories lined the walls—reminders of kingdoms burned, oaths broken, people conquered. I kept my eyes lowered.
The guards opened the heavy door. It shut behind me with a quiet thud.
Aldric stood by a narrow window, hands braced on the sill, staring out into the snow-dusted courtyard. He didn’t turn when I entered. His cheek still bore the faint mark of my hand.
“You sent for me,” I said.
“I did.” His voice remained flat, too flat.
I waited, pulse drumming in my arm. Finally, he turned. “What,” he asked softly, “gave you the audacity to strike a king?”
I swallowed. “You grabbed me. I told you no. You didn’t listen.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think defiance is justification?”
“I think being your wife doesn’t make me your property,” I replied. “You may rule Blackthorn, but not my body.”
He stepped closer, tension sharp as wire. “You forget yourself.”
“No,” I said quietly. “Last night, I remembered myself.”
Something flickered in his expression—not rage, but something more unsettling: wounded disbelief.
“You see me as a monster,” he said.
“You burned my kingdom,” I whispered. “Killed my parents. Dragged me here as a prize. What else should I see?”
His jaw flexed. “I made hard choices in war.”
“And I live with the consequences,” I said. “Daily.”
We locked eyes, two storms colliding.
“You hide in your rooms,” he said lowly. “You refuse my hall. You strike me. The court already questions your loyalty. How long before they wonder where your true allegiance lies?”
My blood ran cold. Court scrutiny would destroy everything. It would expose my sickness, my missed cycles, the soft swell I couldn’t hide forever.
I forced calm into my voice. “Let them wonder.”
“You play a dangerous game,” he said. “And you are not the only one who pays if you lose.”
His gaze dropped—unbidden—to my bruised arm.
“Did I do that?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes.”
He stepped forward as if to touch it. I flinched before I could stop myself.
He froze. For a heartbeat, something cracked in him. Guilt flashed raw across his face before he masked it again.
“Go,” he said roughly. “Before I say something we both regret.”
I left without bowing. The corridor felt tighter on the return. When I reached my door, I slowed.
Two extra guards stood outside—closer, stiffer, more alert than usual.
“Your Majesty,” one said. “By order of the king, we are to remain at your door at all hours.”
My stomach twisted. “To keep me in or others out?”
He hesitated. “To… ensure your safety. The court whispers. His Majesty wishes no rumors to harm your standing.”
A gilded cage was still a cage.
I stepped inside my chamber and closed the door, leaning against it as my knees buckled. The guards shifted outside—silent reminders that I was seen, watched… trapped.
I pressed both hands against my abdomen. For the first time since last night, I understood the true danger closing around me. I felt truly pinned—between a king who hurt me, a court that watched me, and a secret inside me that could destroy us all.