Chapter 1
On the day
ement.
f my coming–of–age ceremony, Julian Hart, defying his own family, arrived with his tr
love in tow to break our engag-
“Eva may be of humble birth,” he declared, “but she is the love of my life. Do not cling to this, Seraphina. You’ll only tarnish your own
name.”
way to the city of Lyr Fearing I would fall into despair, my parents sent me away to the
of Lyria for three years.
When I finally
ally returned to the capital, Julian and Eva had been married for
two years.
And at my own welcome banquet, Julian Hart–the man who had been willing to cast his family aside for Eva–pointed at his wife with a look of utter disgust and snarled.
“Who allowed you to come out and embarrass me? Get back to the estate, now!”
Upon learning of my return to the capital, my dearest friend, Princess Isabelle, insisted on throwing a grand banquet in my honor. She was a royal princess, and we had been close for many years. When Julian had broken our engagement, she was the first to
stand up for me.
So, my carriage didn’t even stop at my own family’s estate; it drove straight through the gates of the princess’s manor.
Isabelle grasped my hands, turning them over and over, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Seraphina, you know Julian is the Marquis of Blackwood’s only son. As audacious as his actions were back then, he was still desti- ned to inherit the title.”
I had heard as much in Lyria. The old Marquis had forgiven Julian, and he was once again the celebrated and respected heir.
“Are you still..” Isabelle began, her voice trailing off. She was worried I still held a grudge.
With tensions rising on the border, the Emperor was relying heavily on the Marquis of Blackwood to maintain peace. For me to remain at odds with Julian was not a wise move.
I simply smiled and shook my head.
It no longer mattered to me. Besides, I had returned to the capital for a different reason entirely–my own betrothal.
Many guests attended the banquet. Among them were the ladies of the court I was friendly with, and of course, those who came only to spectate and gossip. Everyone wore a pleasant smile, and on the surface, the atmosphere was one of harmonious celebrat-
lon.
Halfway through the feast, a servant’s voice rang out from the entrance.
Julian Hart, the heir of Blackwood, had arrived.
A sudden silence fell over the hall. Every head turned in my direction.
I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea, my face a mask of indifference, and glanced at the man stepping into the hall. He shrugged the snow from his shoulders, and a maidservant immediately scurried forward to remove his heavy cloak. When he looked up, his
cool, distant eyes met mine.
For a moment, we were both lost in the past.
Three years ago, for the sake of the humbly–born Eva, he had caused a terrible scene, demanding our engagement be dissolved. I, a
daughter of the most respected house in the capital, was to be cast aside.
Chapter
I remember trying to reason with him, aware of the prying eyes and wagging tongues. “An engagement is an alliance between fam- ilies, arranged by our parents” I had counseled him. “This is a matter for them to decide.”
But Eva, hiding in Julian’s arms, had interjected, her voice laced with false vulnerability. “Sister, must you use my lack of parents to shame me? It is clear you have no intention of letting us go. You only use your parents as an excuse.”
Eva was an orphan, living at the mercy of her brother and his wife. She was a commoner, a girl who could be trampled on by the daughter of a mere county bailiff. Marrying into a marquis’s house was a fantasy beyond her wildest dreams.
Julian, of course, believed her. He was convinced I was merely feigning reason to prevent him from pursuing his one true love.
“Seraphina de Valois, drop the hypocritical act, he had sneered, his face a mask of disgust. “You say that only because you know my father will never agree!”
His words grew uglier, designed to humiliate. “Even a beaten dog knows when to flee. Seraphina, have you no shame? Must I spell
it out for you?”
“Eva may be of humble birth, but she is the love of my life. Don’t think your noble status gives you the right to act so high and migh-
ty!”
As if that wasn’t enough, he looked me up and down and let out a cold, cruel laugh. “And you call yourself a highborn lady. This des- perate, clinging act.. you’re no better than a common harlot.”
His words sent shockwaves through the assembly. And with them, he shattered the decades–long bond between the House of Blackwood and my own, the House of de Valois.
On that day, he destroyed my coming–of–age ceremony and turned me into the laughingstock of the capital.
