Seraphine's POV
His hand is still covering mine when a servant places food in front of me.
I stare at the plate—roasted meat, vegetables I don't recognize, bread that smells freshly baked—and my stomach turns. How can I eat when Daemon's burning touch is pressed against my skin? When thirty hostile faces are watching me like I'm entertainment?
Eat, Daemon says quietly. You'll need your strength.
For what? I whisper back.
His smile is dark. For surviving me.
He releases my hand and picks up his wine glass. The moment his attention shifts to the table, the whispers start.
How long will this one last? A woman in a dark red gown leans toward her companion.
She looks weak, someone else mutters. Too soft for this place.
Pretty thing, though. Shame.
My face burns. I want to disappear, to run back to my room and hide. But I force myself to sit straighter, to pick up my fork even though my hands shake.
I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
Daemon raises his glass, and silence falls instantly. A toast, he announces. To Lady Seraphine. May she prove more resilient than her predecessors.
The way he says it makes it sound like a challenge, not a blessing.
Everyone drinks. I raise my own glass with trembling hands and take a sip. The wine is rich and sweet, and for a moment I wonder if it's poisoned—then realize how ridiculous that is. If Daemon wanted me dead, he wouldn't need poison.
Tell me, Lady Seraphine, a sharp-faced man across the table says. His uniform marks him as a general, and his eyes are cold as winter. How does the North view this peace treaty?
It's a trap. I can feel it.
I wouldn't know, General, I say carefully. I wasn't part of the negotiations.
No? His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Strange. I would think the council would brief their peace bride on the treaty she's meant to represent.
Daemon sets down his wine glass. General Theron, are you interrogating my guest during dinner?
Simply making conversation, my lord.
Then converse with someone else. Daemon's voice drops to a dangerous purr. Unless you'd like to explain why you're questioning my decisions?
Theron's jaw tightens. Of course not, my lord. Forgive me.
But the damage is done. Now everyone at the table is watching me with suspicion, wondering what secrets I'm hiding.
If only they knew.
Dinner continues in tense silence broken only by the clink of silverware on plates. I force myself to eat small bites, trying not to draw more attention. But I can feel eyes on me constantly—judging, weighing, waiting for me to make a mistake.
Halfway through the meal, a woman in a beautiful black gown speaks up. My lord, might I ask how long Lady Seraphine intends to stay with us?
Daemon glances at me, and something flickers in his expression. That depends entirely on her.
And the previous brides? another courtier asks. What happened to them?
The table goes silent. Even the servants freeze.
Daemon leans back in his chair, his red eyes gleaming. They disappointed me.
The simple words hang in the air like a death sentence.
I swallow hard, my food turning to ash in my mouth. Seven women before me. All dead. All because they somehow disappointed this man sitting beside me.
My lord, I hear myself say. Everyone turns to stare. What would it take to not disappoint you?
Daemon's eyebrows rise. Honesty, he says after a moment. I despise liars more than anything else in this world.
The irony cuts through me like a blade. I'm sitting here with poison hidden in my room, sent to assassinate him, and he wants honesty.
Then I'll be honest, I say, my heart pounding. I'm terrified. I don't know what you expect from me. I don't know how to survive in this place. And I have no idea why you're keeping me alive when you killed all the others.
Shocked silence fills the hall.
Then Daemon laughs, really laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Finally. An honest answer. He stands, and everyone immediately rises with him. Dinner is concluded. Everyone out. Now.
The courtiers scramble to obey, filing out quickly. General Theron lingers, his eyes moving between me and Daemon with clear suspicion, but a sharp look from Daemon sends him away too.
Within moments, we're alone in the vast hall except for a few servants clearing plates.
Daemon waves them away as well. Leave us.
They vanish like smoke.
My pulse races as Daemon moves around the table toward me. I stand on shaking legs, unsure whether to run or stay still.
He stops a few feet away, studying me with those unnatural red eyes. You surprise me, little bride.
How?
You're afraid, I can smell it on you. But you're not cowering. Not begging. Not trying to seduce me like the others did. He tilts his head. Why?
Would any of that work?
No.
Then why waste the effort? I'm speaking without thinking now, fear making me reckless. You're going to kill me or you're not. Nothing I do will change that.
You think I'm that predictable?
I think you're exactly what everyone says you are—a monster who kills for sport. So at least I'll die knowing I wasn't foolish enough to believe I could change you.
The words are out before I can stop them. Horror floods through me. I just called the Blood King a monster to his face.
He's going to kill me. Right here, right now.
But instead of anger, something else crosses his face. Something that looks almost like... respect?
You have courage, he says softly. Stupid, suicidal courage, but courage nonetheless. He steps closer. Do you know why I killed the other brides, Seraphine?
My name on his lips makes something flutter in my chest. Because they disappointed you.
Because they lied. Another step closer. Every single one claimed to want peace, to want reconciliation between our kingdoms. But I could see through them. See the fear, the disgust, the hatred they tried to hide behind pretty smiles. His red eyes bore into mine. They all wanted me dead. But they lacked the honesty to admit it.
My blood runs cold. Does he know about the poison?
And you think I'm different? My voice barely works.
I think you're the first one who hasn't pretended to want to be here. He's close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. The first one who looks at me and sees a monster instead of pretending to see a man.
Then why keep me alive?
His hand rises, and I flinch. But instead of striking me, he gently touches my cheek. His burning fingertips should hurt, but they don't, they're just warm, impossibly warm.
Because I'm tired of beautiful lies, he whispers. And you, little bride, might be the only person in this entire kingdom who's too terrified to lie to me.
His thumb brushes my jaw, and I should pull away. Should run. Should do anything except stand here letting the Blood King touch me.
But I'm frozen, caught in his burning gaze.
My chambers, he says quietly. Midnight. Come alone.
Why?
Because we need to talk about why you're really here. His hand drops from my face. And because if you don't come willingly, I'll send guards to drag you there. Your choice.
He walks away, leaving me trembling in the empty hall.
I sink into my chair, my legs no longer able to hold me. My cheek still burns where he touched me—not with pain, but with heat that seems to sink into my skin.
He wants me in his chambers at midnight.
He thinks I'm here for a reason beyond being a sacrifice.
And the way he touched my face—gentle, almost tender—was nothing like the monster everyone describes.
I press my hand to my chest, feeling the rapid thunder of my heartbeat.
What am I supposed to do?
Hours later, back in my room, I pace the floor. Mara brought me back and left without a word, her expression pitying.
The poison vial sits hidden in the fireplace, calling to me.
This could be my chance. Get him alone in his chambers, slip the poison into his drink, end this nightmare.
But his words echo in my mind: I despise liars more than anything else in this world.
And the way he looked at me when I told him the truth, like he was seeing something real for the first time in years.
A knock sounds at my door.
I freeze. It's not midnight yet. Who?
The door opens, and a servant girl enters. She's young, maybe nineteen, with dark hair and kind eyes. She curtsies quickly.
Lady Seraphine? I'm Ryn. I've been assigned to help you prepare for... for your meeting with the king.
Prepare how?
She holds up a silk nightgown, deep crimson red. Her cheeks flush. The king's orders, my lady. He said you're to wear this.
My stomach drops as I stare at the nightgown.
He doesn't just want to talk.
He wants something else entirely.
And I have exactly two hours to decide whether to go as a guest or as an assassin.