Dinner was always quiet in the Silverton household, but tonight, the silence felt sharpened, as though it waited for blood.
Sera sat straight-backed at the narrow table, hands loosely folded in her lap. She had learned long ago that taking too much space invited correction. Her plate was sparsely filled with bread and a spoon of stew, while her sister Sandra laughed brightly beside their mother, jewelry chiming softly with every careless movement.
"You're not eating," her mother observed without looking at her.
Sera lowered her eyes. "I'm not hungry."
That was a lie. She was always hungry. But hunger was easier to endure than attention.
Across the table, her father dabbed his mouth with a cloth, his fingers slightly trembling. He had not touched his wine. His gaze flicked to the door more than once, jaw tight, sweat gathering at his temples despite the cool evening air.
Like he was waiting for something.
Sandra noticed. "Father, you're really pale," she said sweetly. "Is something wrong?"
Before he could answer, the door burst open.
Steel banged loudly against wood, and heavy boots struck the floor in unison.
Sera flinched, while Sandra and their mother screamed.
Men flooded the room, six of them, clad in dark royal garments trimmed with silver. The insignia of the crown gleamed at their throats. At their center stood one man alone, taller than the rest, his presence immediate and suffocating.
His dark eyes scanned the frightened faces in the room, honey-blond hair framing an unimpressed yet unfairly handsome face. Sera knew that face anywhere. The whole family did.
The Duke.
He did not rush as he approached the dinner table. He did not need to. Authority clung to him like a second skin.
Sera felt it settle on her chest, heavy and cold.
Her father was on his feet at once, chair scraping loudly behind him. "My lord—"
"I have no interest in your excuses, Rowan," the Duke interrupted calmly. "You owe the King a considerable amount of money. Money you have been diverting for years."
"I can repay it," her father stammered. "Given some time—"
The Duke did not allow him to finish, pulling his sword from its sheath. It slid out with a whisper, glinting in the dimly lit room. He reached for the person closest to him, Sandra, and wrapped his hand around her neck.
Sandra screamed as the blade lifted, its point pressing lightly beneath her chin. She froze, eyes wide, breath coming fast.
"No!" their mother shrieked. "Please have mercy!"
Sera rose halfway from her chair, heart pounding. She did not get along with Sandra. In fact, she could say that Sandra hated her, but it was still her sister and she did not want her to die.
"Stop. Please."
The Duke did not look at her. He did not seem to have heard her at all.
"You will pay tonight," he said. "One way or another. I am leaving with something to present to the King."
Her father fell to his knees. Not his precious youngest, Sandra. Anyone else.
His eyes snapped to his oldest.
"Take her!" he cried hoarsely, pointing at Sera. "Take her instead!"
The room went still.
Slowly, the Duke turned, and his hard gaze landed on Sera.
She shook her head quickly. Not me, she wanted to scream, but her voice felt like a stone lodged in her throat.
The Duke looked at her carefully, the same way a man observed a rare object behind glass. Assessing. Weighing. Deciding. His eyes traced her unusually white hair, her slender frame, her sky-blue eyes, and the way she stood frozen from fear or disbelief.
Not weak.
Unclaimed.
The corner of his mouth curved faintly.
She would do nicely.
"She's of age?" the Duke asked.
"Yes," her father said desperately. "She turned twenty a month or so ago. She's obedient. Quiet. You may do whatever you wish with her."
Sera's breath left her in a sharp, soundless gasp. Whatever he wished?
She knew her father had never cared for her, not since precious Sandra was born. She had been a child when it started. But this was different. Being given away to settle a debt was too much, even for him.
The Duke stepped closer. She could smell leather and steel, feel the weight of his shadow press over her.
He grabbed her chin, inspecting her face. His grip was not painful, but it held no gentleness.
"A fine payment," he murmured. "The King will appreciate her."
His eyes narrowed.
And so would the rest of them.
Sera did not understand what that meant, but her body did. A chill crept beneath her skin, settling deep in her bones. She did not want to be near the King, not after everything he was known for. He was responsible for the downfall of many nations, and she might be next.
"Father," she whispered, tears rolling down her face. "Please. I didn't do anything."
Her father would not look at her.
Sandra did.
Her sister's fear had already faded, replaced by something small and satisfied. Her lips curved upward, just slightly.
Good riddance.
The Duke lifted a hand. Guards seized Sera's arms before she could move.
She struggled, panic breaking free at last. Her father would not save her. What about the woman who had carried her for nine months, who had wiped her tears when she cried?
"Mother! Please!"
Her mother turned away.
As they dragged her toward the door, Sera twisted back, heart splintering as she took in the sight of her family. Safe. Silent. Relieved.
They had sold her.
Her fear hardened into rage.
I will survive this, she vowed fiercely.
And I will make them regret it.
Behind her, the Duke watched without expression.
She has fire, he thought. The King likes that. We like that.
He turned to his men. "Take her to the palace."
The debt was settled.
And Sera Silverton disappeared into the night.