Seraphina's POV
I couldn't stop staring at the portrait.
The woman—Arianne—smiled down at me from the canvas. Same red hair. Same golden-brown eyes. Same freckles scattered across her nose. Even the way her head tilted slightly to the left was exactly how I tilted mine when I was thinking.
It was like looking in a mirror that showed me from two hundred years ago.
"No," I whispered. "This is impossible."
Elena touched my shoulder gently. "I know this must be shocking—"
"Shocking?" I spun to face her, anger bubbling up through the horror. "I look exactly like his dead girlfriend? And nobody thought to warn me about this before they dragged me through a blood portal?"
"The resemblance wasn't known until Prince Lucien saw you." Elena's voice remained calm. "Very few people ever saw Arianne. She was kept hidden because their love was forbidden."
I pressed my hands against my temples. A headache was building behind my eyes—the kind that meant the tumor was getting worse. "Tell me everything. I deserve to know why the prince looks at me like I killed his family."
Elena sighed and sat on the edge of the massive bed. "Sit down, child. This story is long and painful."
I sat, even though sitting made me feel trapped. The blood bond still hummed in my chest—that connection to Lucien that he'd locked away behind walls of ice.
"Prince Lucien wasn't always like this," Elena began. "Two hundred years ago, he was different. Charming. Brilliant. He could make anyone laugh, could talk his way out of anything. They called him the Silver Tongue Prince."
I tried to imagine the cold, angry vampire I'd met being charming. Failed completely.
"Then he met Arianne," Elena continued. "She was a human artist who stumbled into Valthoria by accident. Lucien was supposed to kill her to protect our secret. Instead..." She smiled sadly. "He fell in love. Catastrophically, completely in love."
My chest tightened. That desperate want I'd felt through the bond—that was for her. For Arianne.
"They kept their relationship hidden for five years. Arianne taught Lucien to paint, to see beauty in small things, to feel alive again. He was happier than anyone had ever seen him." Elena's smile faded. "When Lucien proposed making her his eternal consort through the blood bond, his father the king forbade it. Humans were beneath vampires, he said. The bloodline must stay pure."
"But Lucien defied him," I guessed.
"Yes. He planned a secret bonding ceremony." Elena's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "But Lucien's older brother Damian was jealous. Jealous of Lucien's happiness, fearful of losing his position as crown prince. The night of the ceremony, Damian poisoned Arianne with corrupted vampire blood. Dark magic that made her die in agony."
Horror crawled up my spine. "In front of Lucien?"
"In his arms. Her last words were begging him to let her go, to live, to find love again." Elena's eyes were wet. "Lucien went feral with grief. He killed Damian. When their father tried to stop him, Lucien killed him too. He took a throne he never wanted, became a king at 337 years old. And he's never been the same since."
I thought about the rage I'd felt through the blood bond. The grief so deep it had no bottom. The loneliness that stretched across centuries.
For two hundred years, Lucien had been mourning.
"He blamed himself," I said quietly.
"Yes. If he hadn't fallen in love with her, hadn't defied his father, Arianne would still be alive. Or so he believes." Elena looked at me with pity. "And now you appear, wearing her face. To him, you're either a cruel trick from the universe or a test to see if he's suffered enough."
The words hit me like physical blows.
I'd come to Valthoria with a bucket list. Kiss someone. Make love. Fall in love. Feel alive before I died.
Instead, I was a ghost. A reminder of someone else's tragedy. A walking, talking wound for a vampire prince who couldn't even look at me without hatred.
"He'll never want me," I said, the words tasting bitter. "He'll spend the whole year avoiding me because I remind him of what he lost."
"I don't know," Elena admitted. "The prince is complicated. The way he looked at you in the throne room... there was more than just hatred there."
"Yeah. There was disgust too."
My head throbbed harder. The pain was spreading from behind my eyes down into my neck. The room tilted slightly.
Not now. Please not now.
"Are you alright?" Elena leaned forward, concerned. "You've gone pale."
"I'm fine. Just tired from the journey." I tried to stand but my legs felt weak. "I should rest."
"Yes, of course. I'll have servants bring you food—"
"No food. Just... just let me sleep."
Elena hesitated, then nodded. "There's a bell by the bed. Ring it if you need anything. I'm in the west wing, room forty-seven. Don't hesitate to call for me."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
The moment she was gone, I collapsed back onto the bed.
Twenty-four days left. That's all I had.
Twenty-four days in a palace with a prince who hated me, looking like a dead woman, living as a ghost of someone else's love story.
This wasn't what I wanted. This wasn't the passionate, wild, alive experience I'd dreamed of.
I was going to die in this cold, beautiful prison, and nobody would even care.
The headache exploded.
Pain shot through my skull like lightning. The room spun. I tried to sit up but my body wouldn't obey.
Oh no. Not a seizure. Not here, not now—
My muscles locked. The world went sideways. I felt myself falling off the bed but couldn't stop it.
I hit the floor hard.
My body started convulsing. Arms and legs jerking. Teeth clenched so tight I tasted blood.
Can't breathe. Can't think. Can't—
The door crashed open.
Through blurry vision, I saw someone rushing toward me. White-blond hair. Silver eyes wide with panic.
Lucien.
"No," he was saying, his voice breaking. "No, no, no—"
He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands hovering over my body like he wanted to help but didn't know how.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was his face.
Not angry anymore.
Terrified.