Sera's POV
The ballroom doors opened, and Sera Ashwood stepped into her nightmare.
Five years. Five years since Princess Cassia Valordane had been dragged from this very room in chains, screaming her innocence while nobles turned away. Five years since she'd clawed at a coffin lid until her fingers bled, suffocating in absolute darkness.
Five years since she'd died.
Now she walked back through those same golden doors wearing a different name and a merchant's smile.
Control. You're Sera now. Breathe. Don't let them see.
The Spring Masquerade was exactly as she remembered—hundreds of candles casting dancing shadows across marble floors, musicians playing cheerful melodies, nobles in their finest silks laughing and gossiping like the world wasn't built on lies.
Sera's emerald gown whispered against the floor as she moved deeper into the crowd. Every step felt like walking through a graveyard of memories. There was the corner where she'd laughed with her ladies-in-waiting. There was the balcony where her father had taught her to waltz. There was the exact spot where palace guards had seized her arms and dragged her toward the dungeons.
Her hands trembled. She hid them in her skirts.
Lady Sera! A round-faced nobleman approached with a wine glass. How delightful that you could attend. We're all so curious about your trading empire.
Sera forced the smile she'd practiced a thousand times. Sweet. Harmless. Forgettable. Lord Harwick, the pleasure is mine. The eastern trade routes have been most profitable this season.
While he droned about import taxes, Sera's gaze swept the room with practiced casualness. Searching for the faces that haunted her nightmares.
There.
On the raised throne platform sat Emperor Dorian Valordane. Her brother looked older than his twenty-eight years—dark circles shadowed his eyes, his crown sat crooked, his shoulders slumped like the weight of it was crushing him.
Good, Sera thought viciously. I hope guilt eats you alive.
But the real poison stood beside his throne.
Lady Elara Thornwick wore crimson silk that made her look like spilled blood. Beautiful and deadly. Her hand rested possessively on Dorian's throne arm while she whispered in his ear, and Sera watched her brother nod obediently.
Sera's nails bit into her palms so hard she felt skin break.
Seventeen hours in the dark. Seventeen hours of suffocating because of her lies.
Lady Sera? Are you quite well?
She snapped her attention back to Lord Harwick, smoothing her expression. Forgive me. The crowd is rather overwhelming.
Of course, of course. Let me fetch you some refreshment
Fascinating.
The single word cut through the noise like a blade.
Sera turned slowly.
A man stood ten feet away, watching her with eyes the color of winter storms. Tall, dressed in black that made his sharp features even more striking. Everything about him radiated cold authority—the kind of man who made kingdoms tremble.
Duke Kaelen Nightraven. The Emperor's most trusted advisor.
The man who'd sentenced Princess Cassia to death.
Sera's heart slammed against her ribs, but she kept her face politely curious. Your Grace?
Kaelen moved closer, studying her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve. You're Lady Sera Ashwood. The merchant from the eastern provinces everyone's been whispering about.
I'm honored to be noticed, though I'm hardly that interesting.
Aren't you? His gaze swept over her face with unnerving intensity. You carry yourself with remarkable confidence for someone new to court. Almost like you've walked these halls before.
Ice flooded Sera's veins. Did he recognize her? Impossible. The hair dye, the false identity, five years of carefully constructed lies—
The palace is magnificent, Sera said carefully. Perhaps confidence comes naturally in such grand surroundings.
Perhaps. Kaelen's eyes never left hers. Or perhaps you're simply very good at hiding who you really are.
The accusation hung in the air between them.
Before Sera could respond, Lord Harwick returned with wine. Your Grace! I didn't realize you were acquainted with Lady Sera.
We're not, Kaelen said, still watching Sera. Yet.
Something in that single word made Sera's pulse race. Promise or threat, she couldn't tell.
If you'll excuse me, she murmured, curtsying. I should pay my respects to the Emperor.
She escaped into the crowd, her heart hammering. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to disappear before Kaelen's suspicious gray eyes stripped away her carefully constructed mask.
But running would confirm whatever he suspected.
Sera forced herself to mingle with other nobles, laughing at their jokes, discussing trade routes and weather and meaningless court gossip. The whole time, she felt Kaelen's gaze on her back like a blade pressed against her spine.
She'd survived being buried alive. She'd survived five years of becoming someone else.
She could survive one suspicious duke.
An hour later, Sera stood near the refreshment tables, pretending to admire the decorations while actually studying Elara's movements. Her cousin was laughing at something Dorian said, looking every inch the devoted advisor.
The sight made Sera's stomach turn.
You framed me. Buried me alive. Stole my life.
You're staring.
Sera jerked around.
Kaelen stood beside her, two wine glasses in his hands. He offered one. You've been watching Lady Elara for the past ten minutes with an expression I can't quite decipher. Hatred? Fear? Recognition?
I don't know what you mean, Your Grace.
Don't you? He took a sip of wine, his gray eyes never leaving hers. You look at the Emperor and his advisor like you know them personally. Like they've wronged you somehow.
Sera's mouth went dry. I've never met them before tonight.
Then why do your hands shake when you look at them? Why does your expression shift from carefully neutral to devastated when you think no one's watching?
He sees too much. Notices too much.
Perhaps I'm simply nervous, Sera said, struggling to keep her voice steady. Court can be intimidating for someone from the provinces.
You're not intimidated. Kaelen moved closer, lowering his voice. You're terrified. But not of court. Of something specific. Someone specific.
They stood so close now that Sera could see the exact shade of gray in his eyes. Iron and winter and something that looked almost like guilt buried deep beneath layers of control.
This was the man who'd read her death sentence. Who'd watched them drag her away without flinching. Who'd sent her to suffocate in darkness because duty mattered more than truth.
And now he was studying her like she was the most interesting thing he'd seen in years.
I should go, Sera whispered.
Should you? Or are you running because I'm getting too close to something you don't want discovered?
Their eyes locked. For one breathless moment, the ballroom faded. It was just them—the princess who should be dead and the duke who'd killed her, connected by something neither of them understood.
Then Kaelen smiled. Cold and sharp and utterly terrifying.
I'll be watching you, Lady Sera Ashwood. Very closely.
He walked away, leaving Sera standing alone with her heart racing and the horrible certainty settling in her chest.
Duke Kaelen Nightraven suspected something.
And if he discovered the truth, everything she'd survived would be for nothing.