The palace ballroom glittered like a jewel carved out of frost.
Music swelled. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over swirling silk gowns and gleaming military uniforms. Laughter clinked like glass, the air thick with congratulations and wine.
It was a night of celebration. A night of triumph.
A night announcing the engagement of General Cassian Vale and Lady Marienne Lysford.
But the man of honor stood in silence.
Cassian stood beside his bride-to-be like a statue carved from winter — rayadillo uniform pristine, medals gleaming, posture straight. Yet not once did he smile. He did not toast. He did not offer Marienne his arm unless forced. He did not touch her.
He stood as though attending his own funeral.
Marienne did not seem to care.
She shone beneath the candlelight, basking in praise, accepting blessings with a radiant, victorious smile — the smile of a woman who believed she had conquered something worth fighting for.
She held his hand. He did not return the pressure. Guests whispered.
"He looks… distant."
"Cold as always."
"Perhaps he simply hides his affection."
But Seraphine heard them all.
She stood near the balcony doors, in a gown of muted silver, her eyes hollow though dry. She refused to cry in front of them. Her heart was in shards, but she held each one like a weapon.
Everyone knew. Everyone whispered. Everyone watched her.
She didn't flinch.
Not even when Cassian's gaze flicked toward her — brief, tight, full of something he could not show.
Not tonight. Not in front of the woman he was forced to marry.
A servant passed by her. She took a glass of bitter wine and stepped outside to the balcony. The cold night air stung her cheeks like cold fingers. She let it. She wanted the numbness.
She stared out over the palace gardens, hands tightening on the glass until the stem creaked.
"Seraphine," she murmured to herself, voice shaking, "you must not break. Not here. Not in front of them."
Her breath left in a shudder.
She didn't hear the footsteps until they stopped behind her.
"Well," a sweet, poison-smooth voice said. "If it isn't the ghost of the garden."
Seraphine closed her eyes once before turning slowly.
Lady Marienne stood there, bathed in moonlight, smirking like a woman who had taken a prize she'd chased for years. Her gown was a shimmering gold, her hair pinned with pearls, her smile victorious — triumphant.
Cruel.
"I was wondering when you'd crawl out from the shadows," Marienne said. "I wanted to see your face tonight. I wanted to see how heartbreak truly looks."
Seraphine didn't move.
Marienne stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"You hid it well," she crooned. "But not well enough. You must be dying inside."
A tremor pulsed through Seraphine's chest — rage, grief, agony — but her face remained calm.
Marienne's eyes gleamed.
"Tell me… how does it feel?" She whispered. "To lose? To know he chose me? That I was the one the Emperor deemed worthy, while you were left behind like a discarded thing?"
Seraphine lifted her chin. "I didn't lose," she said softly.
Marienne blinked. "…what?"
Seraphine stepped forward, close enough that her cold breath brushed Marienne's cheek.
"You won his hand," she whispered. "Congratulations."
Marienne smirked.
Seraphine's voice sharpened. "But you will never win him."
The smirk faltered.
"You may have his name," Seraphine continued, stepping around Marienne like a predator circling blood, "his mansion, his title, his glittering ring… But you will never have his heart."
Marienne's eyes narrowed. "You delusional little—"
"Oh no," Seraphine said, her tone suddenly sweet, almost gentle, "what's delusional is you believing he'll ever love you."
Marienne stiffened.
Seraphine leaned in, her voice low and poisonous. "You think his coldness tonight is nerves? You think his silence is him trying to be proper?"
The words twisted like a blade.
"No," Seraphine whispered. "That is who he is with you."
Marienne took a step back. Seraphine followed.
"He is a winter that never thaws. A war that never ends. A man carved from frost and violence. You think you've won… but you've married a storm."
Marienne swallowed hard.
Seraphine's eyes glittered with something broken, something sharp. "And I will tell you something else, Lady Lysford."
She leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched.
"You will never bear his heir."
Marienne's breath hitched. "Excuse me?"
Seraphine smiled — cold, tragic, merciless. "Cassian Vale does not touch what he does not love."
A shiver ran through Marienne.
Seraphine cupped her cheek with a gentleness that mocked.
"You can share his table. His house. His title." Her voice thickened with heartbreak, darkened by grief. "But you will spend every night wondering why he never reaches for you. Why he turns away in your bed. Why the man you married looks at you the same way he looks at the dead."
Marienne's face drained of color.
Seraphine whispered the final blow:
"Your marriage will never be happy. He will make sure of it. And I hope every silent night reminds you—you won nothing worth having."
Marienne stepped back as if slapped.
Seraphine only watched her with hollow eyes, wine glass trembling in her hand.
At that moment, the doors to the balcony opened — and Cassian stepped out. He froze when he saw them.
Marienne quickly lifted her chin, masking her shaken expression.
Seraphine didn't bother. Her eyes met Cassian's.
Broken. Fierce. Untamed.
She held his gaze for three breaths.
Then she turned and walked past him, leaving behind the warmth of the ballroom and the coldness of the balcony.
Leaving behind the man she loved. Leaving behind the last piece of herself she had managed to hold together.
Tonight, something inside Seraphine Arden cracked so deeply.