Seraphina's POV
I don't sleep.
How could I, with Cassian's words echoing in my head? You're someone I'm starting to want to keep.
What does that even mean?
I pace my chambers until dawn light creeps through the window, then give up pretending I'll rest. My mind won't stop racing—Mediator magic, my father's betrayal, Celeste's conspiracy, and silver eyes that see too much.
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
Come in, I call, expecting Elara.
The door opens. Cassian walks in like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.
My heart does something stupid in my chest.
He's wearing black again, hair slightly damp like he just bathed. In the morning light, he looks less like a monster and more like... I don't know what. Something dangerous I shouldn't want to understand.
You didn't sleep, he observes.
Neither did you, apparently.
His mouth quirks. Guilty. I spent the night thinking about our conversation.
Which part? The words come out sharper than I intended. The part where you admitted everyone wants to control me? Or the part where you said I'm dangerous?
Both. He closes the door behind him and leans against it, studying me with those unsettling silver eyes. We need to talk. Really talk. No games, no pretty words. Just truth.
I thought we already did that.
We started. Now we finish. He gestures to the chairs by the window. Sit. Please.
The please surprises me enough that I obey.
He takes the chair across from me, close enough that our knees almost touch. Close enough that I have to focus on breathing normally.
Show me everything, I say before he can speak. All the letters. All the evidence. I want to know exactly what they did.
Without argument, he pulls a folder from inside his coat and hands it over.
I open it with shaking hands.
The first letter is from my father, dated six months before my wedding:
Duke Cassian, I propose an arrangement. My eldest daughter is a liability—too independent, too likely to question my authority once she becomes Crown Princess. The younger daughter is malleable. Help me remove Seraphina from power, and I will ensure the Golden Court grants you favorable trade agreements.
The betrayal hits me like a physical blow.
Six months. Father planned this for six months while smiling at me over breakfast, while helping plan my wedding, while calling me the future of our family.
Keep reading, Cassian says quietly.
The next letter is Celeste's, written three months later:
I've been practicing sister's handwriting. The forgeries are nearly perfect. I also have access to her personal seal—she trusts me completely. We can create whatever evidence we need.
My hands clench, crumpling the paper.
She stole my seal, I whisper. While I was helping her with her studies, being a good sister, she was stealing from me.
Yes.
Another letter, this one from Lucian to my father:
The arrangement is acceptable. Seraphina is beautiful but useless politically—she actually believes in peace with the Shadow Marches. Celeste will be easier to control. Proceed with the plan. I'll ensure the wedding arrest is public and humiliating.
The man I loved. The man I thought loved me. He called me useless.
I read letter after letter, watching my destruction being planned like a business transaction. Every detail coordinated. Every witness bribed. Every piece of evidence carefully fabricated.
They spent months destroying me.
Why send me here? I finally ask, setting down the letters because I can't read anymore without screaming. Why not just execute me like a normal traitor?
Cassian leans forward, elbows on his knees. Three reasons. First, executing you would make you a martyr. Some people might question the evidence, defend your memory. But sending you to marry the empire's most hated man? That makes you a living cautionary tale about betrayal.
Second?
It humiliates you more completely than death. You have to live with your shame, watching your sister take everything you had.
The cruelty takes my breath away.
And third? I force out.
His silver eyes lock onto mine. They assumed I'd treat you cruelly. Torture you, maybe. Lock you in a dungeon. Your suffering would justify whatever they want to do next—probably invade the Shadow Marches to 'rescue' you, which gives Lucian his excuse for war.
Understanding crashes over me. I'm not just a discarded bride. I'm a future war justification.
Exactly. He sits back, something like approval in his expression. You're smarter than they gave you credit for.
Apparently everyone underestimated me. Bitterness coats my words. My father thought I'd be too weak to survive this. Lucian thought I'd be too stupid to see through his lies. Celeste thought I'd never fight back.
Will you?
The question hangs in the air between us.
Will I fight back? A month ago, I would have said no. The old Seraphina would have accepted her fate, tried to be good, hoped someone would rescue her.
But that girl died in a cathedral wearing a wedding dress.
Yes, I say, and mean it with every fiber of my being. I want them to pay for what they did. All of them.
Cassian's smile is sharp and satisfied. Good. Then here's my offer.
He leans forward again, and suddenly the space between us feels charged with possibility.
Help me understand the Golden Court, he says. Their politics, their weaknesses, their secrets. Give me everything you know about your father's networks, Lucian's military plans, the council's power structure. In return, I'll give you resources, protection, and training.
Training for what?
For revenge. His eyes gleam like silver knives. For becoming strong enough that they can never hurt you again. For discovering what this Mediator power is and how to control it before anyone else can use you.
My heart pounds. You'd help me get revenge against the Golden Court? Why? What do you gain?
Besides destabilizing my enemies? He shrugs. Let's call it enlightened self-interest. Your family wants war with the Shadow Marches. Having you as my ally instead of their victim ruins their plans completely. Plus He pauses, something dangerous flickering in his expression. I genuinely hate people who destroy innocents for power. Your family deserves everything coming to them.
So this is still a transaction. You helping me helps you.
Yes. I won't pretend otherwise. He extends his hand across the space between us. But at least we'll be honest about using each other. No lies. No false promises. Just two people with aligned interests working together. Deal?
I stare at his offered hand.
This is nothing like the life I imagined. No true love, no fairy tale rescue, no happy ending handed to me on a silver platter.
Just a cold arrangement with a dangerous man who sees me as useful.
But useful is better than powerless. An alliance is better than being a victim.
And honestly? The thought of making my family pay for what they did burns brighter than any fantasy of rescue ever could.
I take his hand.
His grip is strong, warm, sending that same electric shock through me as last night.
Deal, I say firmly. I'll tell you everything I know about the Golden Court. You help me become strong enough to face them.
And when the time comes, he adds, still holding my hand, we'll decide together who deserves to burn.
The promise hangs between us, dark and compelling.
He should release my hand. The deal is sealed.
He doesn't let go.
Neither do I.
There's something else you should know, he says quietly, and his thumb brushes across my knuckles in a way that definitely wasn't part of the deal. Something I didn't tell you last night.
What?
His silver eyes hold mine, intense and burning. The Mediator magic in your bloodline? It doesn't just unite powers. It bonds to a counterpart—someone with opposing magic who balances you. Someone who becomes tied to you in ways even marriage can't match.
My breath catches. What kind of ways?
Soul-deep ways. The kind where you feel each other's emotions, share strength, become two halves of something more powerful than either could be alone. He leans closer, voice dropping. And according to the old texts, a Mediator's counterpart is always—without exception—their complete opposite.
Understanding dawns slowly, terrifyingly.
You have shadow magic, I whisper. Don't you?
His smile is slow and devastating. Yes. Which means if your power awakens—when it awakens—it will bond to mine whether we want it to or not.
That's impossible.
Is it? He finally releases my hand, but the loss of contact feels like a physical ache. Or is it exactly what your father feared? Why he worked so hard to keep us apart? Why he'd rather see you dead than risk you discovering what we could become together?
My mind spins. We could become... what?
Unstoppable. The word is soft, dangerous, thrilling. A Mediator and her Shadow counterpart, properly bonded, can reshape empires. Unite kingdoms. Or tear them apart completely.
He stands abruptly, putting distance between us like he needs the space to think clearly.
Your lessons start tomorrow, he says, voice returning to cold formality. Mikhael will teach you about our political structure. Elara will teach you combat. And I— He pauses at the door, looking back with eyes that burn. I'll teach you how to use the power your family tried so hard to keep buried.
Cassian, I call as he opens the door.
He stops. Waits.
If this bond happens, I say carefully, if our powers connect like you say they will—what does that make us?
For a long moment, he just looks at me.
Something your family will kill to prevent, he finally says. And something I'm starting to think might be worth the war that's coming.
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with racing thoughts and a truth that changes everything.
I'm not just the discarded princess.
I'm not just a political pawn.
I'm half of something that could reshape the empire.
And the Shadow Duke—the monster I was supposed to fear—might be the only person in the world who can help me become it.
I touch my hand where he held it, where I can still feel the warmth of his skin.
This isn't love. This isn't even friendship.
But it's something.
And that something terrifies me more than anything my family ever did.