The royal hunt had returned—cloaked in dust, sweat, and hollow laughter. Trumpets blared, and the gates groaned open. King Aldren rode at the head of the column, antlers strapped triumphantly across the saddle of his black destrier. Around him, nobles cheered, joy curdling in the warm spring air. Caelum stood at the edge of the stables. Behind him, the court spilled into the courtyard. The new queen. She was porcelain and perfumed, dressed in soft lilacs, her smile as careful as her footing. And then— The gates opened. A cold silence swept through the courtyard like a sheet of ice cracking across a lake. The guards at the gate backed away, wide-eyed. And through the archway, flanked by no one, a woman walked. She moved slowly, deliberately, as though she had all the time in the world and no one present was worth hurrying for. Her silver hair was bound in a regal braid, a black and emerald crown of thorns resting like judgment on her brow. Her gown shimmered, green silk layered with black velvet, adorned in silver embroidery that coiled like living vines. But it was her face that silenced the court. The Queen. Not the young bride beside the king—but her. Seraphine. The queen they had mourned. The queen they had buried in whispered lies and trembling silences. Alive. Changed. Her beauty was still intact, but sharpened—cut from steel rather than marble. Her eyes were no longer soft—they burned. Coldly. Calculatingly. Her posture was regal, but rigid, like she’d been held together by sheer will for too long. There was no warmth in her presence. Only power. Only wrath. Caelum dropped the saddle, frozen. His heart pounded like war drums in his chest. The world blurred, except for her. She met his gaze—for only a moment—and something in her eyes flickered. Recognition. Pain. Then it was gone. The king stepped forward. His voice cracked with disbelief. “Seraphine…?” Gasps echoed through the court. Someone dropped a goblet. She stopped before the king, her hands clasped in front of her. “Yes, husband,” she said, her voice smooth and cold. “You look well. How fortunate, given how hard you tried end me.” Silence exploded into chaos. The king stumbled back. “Lies! Witchcraft!” People stared, eyes wide. Lord Vexley fell to his knees. The young queen clutched her husband’s arm. “She’s mad. This is sorcery—!” “The king ordered my end. Poison. Hidden in my tea. But he underestimated the loyalty of a few. I was saved. Hidden. And I have returned.” A murmur rose. Nobles backed away from Aldren. Guards exchanged glances, uncertain. Caelum stood still, unable to breathe. “You disgraced this crown,” Seraphine said, voice rising like a storm. “You tried to end me your queen. And now you sully the throne with this puppet.” A captain of the guard, armored in deep red, raised his spear. “Your Majesty—your true Majesty—your orders?” Seraphine looked at the king one last time. “Take him. And her. I’ll decide their fate when I see fit.” There was no fight. The court had chosen. The guards seized Aldren as he raged and spat, dragged him from the steps as his bride screamed. And in the stunned silence, Seraphine turned—and her eyes found Caelum again. Just for a heartbeat. Then she walked past him.