Seraya’s POV
I am the Queen of Virelia, the Kingdom of Life and Healing. Once loved by my husband… but now he despises me.
Ten years a queen, and I sit at the high council table like furniture—present, but irrelevant.
Theron, the King of Virelia, doesn’t look at me. He never does, not anymore. He speaks to his ministers like I’m not there. Like I didn’t used to sit at the center of this room, part of every decision. Now, they talk around me. I’m only a decoration.
The steward clears his throat. “Her Majesty is excused.”
No one questions it. No one thanks me. I rose then walked out of the room.
The silver gardens are quiet. They were planted for me once, when we married. A gesture of love. Now they’ve grown wild. Roses bloom without scent. Vines choke the walls.
Two maids pass me. One glances down. The other doesn’t see me at all. This is what I’ve become—someone who can be passed by.
In the east corridor, I hear laughter. I know that laugh. I turn the corner.
Theron stands close to a stewardess. Too close. His hand rests on her arm. She leans into him, smiling. He says something quiet. She laughs again, openly, carelessly.
He sees me. For a moment, our eyes meet. Then he looks away. Like I’m just another wall. Cheating in broad daylight. I thought I am his world?
It pains me… but there’s nothing left to say.
Back in my chambers, I go to the balcony. The roses there are starting to die. I kneel beside one, pressing my fingers to the petals.
My magic heals it. Slowly. A weak stir beneath my skin. The flower lifts. The color returns. It’s not strength I feel. Not even comfort. Just the reminder that something inside me still works. Still breathing.
There’s a knock.
“My lady,” a maid says quietly, “the State Ball is nearly prepared.”
I nod. She waits, unsure if I’ll ask for anything.
“You may go,” I told her. She bows and leaves.
No one asked me to help plan it. Not this year. Once, I chose the music, the guest list, and the flowers. Now I wear what I’m told and arrive when expected.
The hall shines that night. Gold drapes, crystal lanterns, polished floors. The musicians play nonstop. Courtiers move in perfect rhythm. My gown is heavy. Gold thread, fitted bodice, long sleeves. I feel weighed down in it. Like I’m wrapped in someone else’s pride. I take my place beside Theron. We haven’t spoken since the council. We haven’t spoken in weeks.
I glance at him. Just once. I smooth the sleeve of my gown, shift slightly toward him. Subtle things—just enough to be noticed.
He didn’t even look.
I tried again. I reach to adjust his goblet, letting my fingers brush his hand. Nothing. He pulls his hand back. Still looking straight ahead. Not a word. Not a glance. I could be anyone. A servant steps forward to murmur something into his ear. He nods once, responds quietly. Still nothing for me.
It’s like I’m invisible, even here—beside him, beneath the chandeliers, wearing the crown he placed on my head a decade ago. Then the great doors open.
The Drosmere delegation enters. From the Kingdom of Ice and Shadows.
Princess Elowen walks first—tall, porcelain-skinned, with platinum hair and icy-blue eyes that miss nothing. She wears a gown of storm-gray silk, cut to precision. Every movement is perfect. She is the picture of quiet, practiced grace.
Behind her walks a man I’ve only seen in war briefings and enemy portraits.
King Caelum.
He’s taller than I imagined—broad-shouldered, dressed in black with silver trim, his dark hair brushed back neatly, but not fussed over. His face is sharp, angular, and completely still. There’s something cold in the way he moves—too calm, too quiet. His eyes are pale silver, almost white, and they pass over the room like he’s already memorized every threat inside it.
He wears no crown tonight. He doesn’t need one.
The music resumes. The nobles recover quickly—most don’t know how to stay silent for long. They gather near the Drosmere guests like bees to sugar. There are polite greetings, strained compliments, and attempts to read the room.
I stand still. I smile when expected. I nod when spoken to.
Theron hasn’t said a word to me all night. Not even to explain who they are or why they’re here. He didn’t warn me. He didn’t tell me what this night would mean.
I know he saw me staring. I know he felt me shift closer. But he chose silence. Like always. Then Theron steps forward, goblet in hand. His voice rings out, strong and clear.
“To the peace of nations—”
I glance at him again, hoping—stupidly—that he might look at me when he says it.
He doesn’t.
“—and to the future of Virelia.”
But what he said next shattered my heart…
“I will soon take Princess Elowen of Drosmere as my second wife.”
