The great hall of Avedora Manor smelled faintly of winter grain and parchment. Sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows, catching on dust motes and the gold threads of Lord Cassian’s overcoat as he stood before a servant holding a ledger.

“Three caravans to the northern villages,” her father instructed, voice precise, clipped. “Two to the river port. The rest to the capital granaries—no exceptions. If the Crown wishes higher output, they may speak with the soil itself.”

The servant bowed, nervous but accustomed to the lord’s blunt tongue.

Seraphine leaned against a column nearby, half present, half wandering in thought. She had just come from the stables—her curls still rebelliously wild, the wind having undone whatever attempts at neatness the maids had forced on her earlier. She straightened and walked toward her father, boots tapping softly against marble.

“Father, the shipment map is wrong, the east road washed out this morni—”

Before she could finish, the doors at the far end opened. Every voice in the hall stilled.

The Crown Princess entered like a quiet storm—soft, but instantly commanding the air itself. She wore an elaborate gown of ivory and deep red, gold embroidery catching the light like moving flames. Her long blonde hair fell in rich waves, some coiled and pinned, some free in elegant disarray. A small crown gleamed above her brow, not oversized, but unmistakable.

Her blue eyes swept the hall—sharp, perceptive, curious—until they landed on Seraphine.

She turned slightly, the movement slow, graceful, deliberate. “Lord Avedora,” she greeted, voice warm but layered with power. “I hoped to find you before you departed.”

Cassian bowed with a sincerity he gave to no one else. “Your Highness. You honor my house.”

The princess’s gaze flicked again—this time settling on Seraphine, who had stepped up beside her father, hair still untamed, one curl caught in the corner of her mouth. She tucked it behind her ear, pretending not to notice how intensely the princess was staring.

“And this,” the princess asked, “is your daughter?”

There was no avoiding the attention. Seraphine drew her chin up, steady. “I am, your Highness. Lady Seraphine Avedora.”

A smile slowly curved the princess’s lips—small, but breathtaking in its precision. “Then your father is to be envied. Few men are blessed with a daughter who looks as though she were crafted from sunshine itself.”

Heat shot up Seraphine’s neck, unfamiliar and unwelcome. She forced herself not to look away, though her heartbeat betrayed her, loud beneath her ribs.

She managed a controlled breath and replied, “Sunshine tends to blind, your Highness. Not always a blessing.”

Her voice was steady—her blush was not.

The princess’s eyes lingered, amused, almost… pleased. “Perhaps,” she murmured, “but some things are meant to be seen, even if it hurts to look too long.”

Cassian, oblivious to the storm silently unfolding between them, cleared his throat. “My daughter is outspoken, Highness, but loyal to the crown. I trust she will not embarrass us.”

The princess did not look away from Seraphine when she said softly, “I doubt she could embarrass anyone. She seems to know exactly who she is.”

Seraphine’s pulse stumbled at that—no one in court spoke like this. Certainly not to her. And never a woman.

The moment stretched—unspoken, dangerous, impossible.

Love between women was not merely forbidden. It was erased before it could ever breathe.

And yet Seraphine found herself thinking: If I step closer, if I say one wrong word—this could destroy everything. So why do I want to anyway?