Seraphina's POV
My hands won't stop shaking.
I press my palms flat against the cool marble dressing table, willing them to be still. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I'm marrying Crown Prince Lucian in less than an hour. I should be calm. Confident. Perfect.
Instead, my stomach twists with nerves I can't explain.
You're going to wrinkle your gloves, Celeste says behind me, her voice sweet as honey. My younger sister adjusts my veil with gentle fingers, and I catch her reflection in the mirror. She's smiling, but something about it makes my skin prickle.
I shake off the feeling. Celeste has been nothing but supportive these past weeks. I'm just being paranoid.
Sorry, I murmur, smoothing the silk gloves over my trembling fingers. I don't know why I'm so nervous.
It's your wedding day. Celeste's blue eyes meet mine in the mirror. Every bride feels this way.
The door bangs open. Father strides in without knocking, his military boots clicking against the floor. Duke Aldric Ashcroft doesn't waste time on pleasantries.
The cathedral is full, he announces, checking his pocket watch. Every noble family in the empire is waiting. Don't embarrass us, Seraphina.
My chest tightens. Yes, Father.
He looks me over like I'm a horse he's selling. You'll make an acceptable Crown Princess. The Ashcroft name will finally have the power it deserves. He turns to leave, then pauses. Remember—smile, speak only when spoken to, and for heaven's sake, don't cry during the vows. Lucian hates emotional displays.
The door slams behind him.
I stare at my reflection. The girl looking back wears a gown that cost more than most families earn in a year. Diamonds glitter at her throat. Her dark hair is twisted into an elaborate style that took three servants two hours to create.
She looks like a princess from a fairy tale.
She looks like a stranger.
He doesn't mean it harshly, Celeste says softly, though we both know that's a lie. Father never says anything he doesn't mean. He's just stressed. This wedding is important for the family.
More important than me, I think, but don't say.
Celeste squeezes my shoulder. Lucian loves you. Remember that. He chose you.
My heart warms slightly. She's right. Lucian does love me. He told me so just last week, kissing my hand in the palace gardens while courtiers pretended not to watch. We've been engaged for seven years—since I was sixteen and he was twenty. I know him. I trust him.
This nervousness is just wedding jitters.
The palace bells begin to ring, their sound rolling across the Golden City like thunder. My heart jumps.
It's time, Celeste whispers.
I stand on shaking legs. Celeste hands me my bouquet—white roses and golden lilies, the flowers of the imperial family. The scent makes me dizzy.
You look beautiful, sister, Celeste says, and kisses my cheek. Her lips are cold. Absolutely perfect.
We walk through the palace corridors in silence. Servants bow as we pass. Guards snap to attention. Everyone is watching, judging, waiting to see if Duke Ashcroft's eldest daughter will make a suitable Crown Princess.
The cathedral doors loom ahead, twice as tall as a man and carved with scenes of ancient emperors. Through them, I hear music—the royal orchestra playing my processional. Beyond those doors, Lucian is waiting at the altar.
My husband.
My future.
My escape from Father's cold house and into a life where maybe, finally, someone will love me for me and not for what I can do for the family name.
Father appears from a side corridor to take my arm. His grip is too tight, his fingers digging into my elbow through the silk.
Don't mess this up, he hisses in my ear.
The cathedral doors swing open.
Light pours over me—golden sunshine streaming through stained glass windows, making rainbow patterns on white marble floors. The cathedral is packed with nobility, hundreds of faces turning to stare at me. I see the Emperor and Empress in the front row. I see the Golden Council members in their ceremonial robes. I see everyone who matters in the empire watching my every move.
And at the altar, standing tall and perfect in his golden military uniform, is Lucian.
Crown Prince Lucian Goldharrow, beloved by the people, admired by the court, destined to be Emperor. His blonde hair catches the light like a halo. When our eyes meet, he smiles.
My nervousness melts away. Everything will be fine. This is Lucian. The man I love. The man who loves me.
I begin the long walk down the aisle on Father's arm. Each step echoes in the massive space. The music swells. Flowers perfume the air. It's like a dream.
I'm halfway down the aisle when I notice something odd. Lucian's smile doesn't reach his eyes. He's looking at me, but there's no warmth in his expression. Just... calculation.
I stumble slightly. Father's grip tightens, keeping me upright.
We reach the altar. Father releases my arm and steps back without a word. I climb the three marble steps alone, bouquet clutched in white-knuckled hands.
Lucian takes my hand. His touch is cold despite his gloves.
You look beautiful, he says, loud enough for the front rows to hear. But his eyes are empty.
Something is wrong.
The High Priest opens his prayer book, beginning the ancient wedding rites. I should be listening, should be focused on this sacred moment. Instead, my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe.
Why is Lucian looking at me like that? Like I'm a problem to be solved?
The priest drones on about duty and honor and imperial legacy. I barely hear the words. All I can focus on is Lucian's hand holding mine, cold and impersonal, like he's holding a tool instead of his bride.
Do you, Crown Prince Lucian Goldharrow, take this woman
The cathedral doors explode inward with a deafening BANG.
The music stops. Gasps ripple through the crowd. I spin around, heart in my throat.
Commander Helena Ironfist marches down the aisle, boots echoing like drumbeats. Behind her, twenty armed soldiers in golden armor spread out, blocking the exits. The crowd erupts in confused whispers.
Helena's face is hard as stone. She's the Emperor's most trusted military commander, famous for crushing rebellions without mercy. What is she doing here? Why does she look like she's going to war?
She stops at the foot of the altar steps and looks directly at me.
Lady Seraphina Ashcroft, her voice rings through the cathedral, cold and clear. You are under arrest for high treason against the Golden Throne.
The world tilts sideways.
This can't be real. This is my wedding. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
There must be some mistake, I hear myself say, but my voice sounds far away. I haven't—I would never
Seize her, Helena commands.
Two soldiers start up the altar steps toward me.
I turn to Lucian, desperate, certain he'll fix this. He'll tell them it's a mistake. He'll protect me. He loves me.
But Lucian is already stepping away from me.
His hand—the one that was just holding mine—is pulling back like I'm diseased. And in his eyes, I see something that makes my blood turn to ice.
He knew.
He knew this was going to happen.
Lucian? I whisper, my voice breaking. What's going on?
The soldiers grab my arms. I'm too shocked to resist.
Lucian looks at me with the cold, empty expression of a stranger, and says five words that shatter my entire world:
Take the traitor away, Commander.