Chapter 3
Seraphina moved through the manor like a ghost. Every corridor, every polished mirror, every familiar face none of it felt real. It was all a memory made flesh.
But she remembered the timelines. The betrayals. The traps.
And she would not walk blindly into them again.
At breakfast, her father sat at the head of the long mahogany table, reading letters with an indifferent frown. His ring carved with the Vale crest gleamed in the morning light.
He didn't look at her when he spoke.
"Lord Deymour's banquet is next week. You will attend. We must begin preparing the match."
The words were like chains old, rusted, and painfully familiar.
This was the moment it had begun. The mask. The charm. The courting.
Kaelron had started his hunt here.
Seraphina kept her voice light. "Of course, Father. I look forward to it."
He blinked, surprised by her tone. In her first life, she had objected softly, hesitantly. Now, she smiled.
Let them think she was obedient. Harmless.
Let them all wear their masks. She would wear hers too.
Later that afternoon, in the privacy of her room, she pulled open the hidden drawer beneath her vanity. It was still there: her old sketchbook. She flipped through pages of a younger Seraphina's dreams castles, dresses, flowers.
Then came the page she had hidden even from herself: a sketch of Kaelron.
She stared at it.
"Charming. Ruthless. Liar."
She tore the page out slowly, then fed it to the flame of her candle. The edges curled. Ash drifted to the floor.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
Elira entered, holding a box wrapped in royal blue silk.
"A gift," she said. "From Lord Deymour."
Of course. It had begun.
Seraphina unwrapped the box carefully. Inside lay a silver hairpin shaped like a serpent coiled around a red gem.
A ruby. Crimson. A warning.
She turned it in her hand, then smiled a slow, cold smile.
"Send a reply," she said. "Tell Lord Deymour… I treasure it."
But in her mind, a new vow was already forming.
"You think you're hunting me again. But this time, Kaelron... I'm the serpent."