Chapter 8
The sound of hooves on the road grew fainter as Seraphine’s consciousness began to fade, her blood loss weakening her further. She couldn’t remember how she had managed to survive the long day and night, only that she had to leave this place at all costs.
She didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, she saw a black castle standing at the edge of a cliff.
“Where is this?”
Her cracked lips trembled as she whispered, her vision darkening.
The horse, sensing its rider’s weakness, stopped just before the mountain path, giving a soft whinny. Seraphine used the last of her strength to fall from the saddle. Her chest wound split open again, and her blood soaked through her already ruined clothing.
“Help…” she gasped, reaching toward the dark gate ahead, but just as her fingers almost touched it, she collapsed.
In the final moments before her consciousness slipped away, Seraphine saw the gates open. A pair of golden–embroidered boots stopped right in front of her.
“I’ve gone through great lengths to find you. Who would have thought you’d be right here,” a deep male voice said.
Darkness rushed in like a tide.
Seraphine fell into a long, long dream.
It was filled with fragments from her childhood, memories from before she was seven years old.
A woman, tears in her eyes, pushed her into a secret passage. “Go find your uncle…”
The dream shifted abruptly, and she saw a sea of flames and heard anguished screams.
Little Seraphine curled up in the passageway, watching as familiar figures fell one by one.
“House Frost’s bloodline must be extinguished!”
An icy voice echoed in the flames. “Search! Leave not a single one alive!”
The dream shifted once more, and Seraphine was running barefoot through the snow, the sound of hooves pounding behind her.
She ran until she could run no more, then collapsed in front of a magnificent carriage.
The curtain was lifted, revealing the face of a handsome young man.
“A beggar this small?” the young Lucien frowned at her purple–tinged face. “Take her back to the gauntlet.”
“Awake?”
A strange voice pulled Seraphine from her dreams.
She opened her eyes sharply, meeting a pair of eagle–like, piercing eyes.
“Who are you?”
“I am Alistair Graves, Head of the Shadow Court, and your uncle.”
“Uncle?”
The woman in her dream had told her to find her uncle.
“You saved me?”
Seraphine’s throat was dry and sore as she tried to sit up. To her astonishment, the wounds on her chest had already scabbed over, and the nails in her arms and legs had healed almost completely.
This wasn’t possible.
A normal person would take at least half a month to recover from such injuries.
“Surprised?” Alistair stood with his hands behind his back. “The bloodline of House Frost heals ten times faster than ordinary people.”
Seraphine’s pupils constricted.
“House Frost?”
Chapter 8
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Alistair didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took a bracelet from his sleeve and held it in front of her.
The bracelet was engraved with the word “Frost,” and the back was adorned with roses.
“Do you recognize this?”
Seraphine’s fingers trembled uncontrollably.
She had seen it before. It had been worn by the woman who pushed her into the secret passage.
“It seems your memories are returning,” Alistair sighed. “Eighteen years ago, the most powerful medical family, House Frost, was destroyed. Only the young daughter, Seraphine, disappeared without a trace.”
Seraphine’s mind reeled, her ears buzzing.
“Are you saying…I…”
“You are the last bloodline of House Frost,” Alistair’s gaze was complex. “Your father, Gregor Frost, was my sworn brother, and your mother, Elara Nightingale, was the daughter of the Royal Physicus from the former dynasty. The court, in order to obtain the secrets of House Frost’s healing bloodline, allied with several martial factions to wipe out the entire Frost estate.”
Seraphine’s chest heaved violently, and the fragmented pieces of her dreams suddenly came together.
A warm home, a brutal massacre, a desperate escape through the snow..
“Why did you wait so long to find me?” her voice cracked.
A flicker of guilt passed through Alistair’s eyes.
“It took us eight years to confirm you were alive, another five years to track you to Valmont Keep. But Valmont Keep was heavily guarded, and Lucien kept you hidden so well…”
Suddenly, Seraphine remembered something and raised her head quickly: “Does Lucien know about my background?”
Alistair snorted coldly. “It was Lucien’s father, old Prince Valmont, who ordered the massacre of House Frost…”
Chapter 8
