The winter air bit into Seraphina’s bare shoulders, but she barely felt the cold.
The heavy iron shackles around her wrists were far colder. She walked toward the center of the town square, the rhythmic clink-clink of her chains a funeral march against the cobblestones.
"Witch!" a voice screamed from the crowd. A rotten fruit struck her cheek, the juice stinging like acid.
Seraphina didn't flinch. Her eyes were fixed on the royal balcony, where King Malakai sat. He looked magnificent in his gold-embroidered robes, his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of Lady Elara—the "Saintess" with the dove-like eyes who had replaced Seraphina in his bed and his heart.
Malakai leaned forward, his voice magically amplified so it boomed across the square. "Lady Seraphina, for the crimes of high treason, witchcraft, and the murder of the royal unborn, I sentence you to death. May the gods have mercy on your blackened soul, for I have none left to give."
Seraphina let out a jagged, broken laugh. She hadn't killed his child; Elara had poisoned herself to frame the "Mad Queen." But the truth didn't matter when the judge wanted you dead.
She was forced onto her knees at the block. The wood was stained dark with the blood of those who came before her.
She looked up, and there he stood.
Grand Duke Valerius.
He was known as the "Iron Hound of the North." Standing nearly seven feet tall, draped in black furs and midnight-colored armor, he was the King’s primary weapon. His face was hidden behind a cold, silver half-mask, leaving only his jaw—stern and shadowed with stubble—and his eyes visible.
His eyes were not filled with the triumph of the crowd. They were swirling with a dark, suffocating grief.
"Do it, Duke," Seraphina hissed, her neck bared. "Don't make me wait for his pleasure."
Valerius stepped closer, his shadow engulfing her. He leaned down, his voice a low vibration that only she could hear. "Close your eyes, Little Bird. I will be fast. I will not let you feel the cold for long."
He raised the massive executioner’s sword. The steel caught the dying light of the sun. Seraphina closed her eyes, imagining the blade’s bite.
Whish—
The sound of cloven air was the last thing she heard.
"My Lady? My Lady, please wake up! You’ll be late for the anointing!"
Seraphina bolted upright, a scream dying in her throat. She gasped for air, her hands flying to her neck. It was warm. Intact. Smooth.
She wasn't on the block. She was in her silken bed in the Ducal Palace. The scent of lavender and expensive oils filled the air, not the copper tang of blood.
"Ellara?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"No, My Lady, it’s me, Mina," her maid replied, looking confused. "Lady Elara won't arrive at court for another two years. Are you quite well? It’s your wedding day!"
The blood drained from Seraphina's face. Three years. I’ve gone back three years.
Today was the day she would marry Malakai. Today was the day she would begin her descent into madness for a man who would eventually throw her to the dogs.
No. A cold, diamond-hard resolve settled in her chest. She wouldn't be the Mad Queen this time. She wouldn't beg for Malakai’s crumbs.
"Mina," Seraphina said, her voice dropping into a chilling, authoritative tone. "Cancel the rose-water bath. Bring me the oils from the North—the musk and the sandalwood. And the dress with the low back. The one Father said was too scandalous for a Queen."
"But My Lady, the King prefers you in white and gold—"
"I am not dressing for the King,"
Seraphina interrupted, her eyes flashing with a predatory light.
She stood up, her naked body reflected in the tall pier glass. She was beautiful, hauntingly so, before the stress of the palace had thinned her out. She remembered the Duke’s eyes at the execution. The grief. The way he had called her Little Bird.
Malakai wanted a saint; she would give him a ghost. But first, she needed to secure the Hound.
The Wedding Feast
The ballroom was a sea of gold and silk, but Seraphina moved through it like a drop of poison in a chalice of wine. She had endured the ceremony, letting Malakai’s lips brush her cheek with a disgust she barely hid.
Now, while Malakai bragged to his generals, Seraphina slipped onto the darkened balcony. She knew he would be there. He always preferred the shadows to the light.
She found him leaning against the stone balustrade, a cup of untouched wine in his hand. Grand Duke Valerius. He looked exactly as he had in her memory, minus the silver mask. His face was ruggedly handsome, scarred by a thin line across his brow, his eyes like molten lead.
"You should be inside, Your Majesty," Valerius said, his voice the same deep rumble that had promised her a swift death.
"The King is looking for his bride."
"The King is looking for a trophy to display," Seraphina said, stepping into his space. The scent of her musk-oil filled the gap between them. "I am looking for a man who knows how to use a blade."
Valerius stiffened, his gaze dropping to the swell of her breasts, pushed high by the tight corset of her dress. "You speak in riddles."
"I speak of survival," she whispered. She reached out, her fingers tracing the heavy embroidery on his chest, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath. "They call you the Hound. They say you are loyal only to the crown."
She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I want to buy that loyalty, Duke. I want you to be my Hound. I want you to hunt for me. To kill for me."
Valerius gripped her waist, his large hand bruising the silk of her gown. His breathing hitched, his self-control fraying as he looked down at her. "And what could a Queen possibly offer a man like me that the King hasn't already given?"
Seraphina grabbed his hand and dragged it down, pressing his palm flat against her thigh, dangerously high beneath her skirts.
"Everything he is too weak to take," she hissed. "I will give you my body until you are sick of it. I will give you the throne. And in exchange, I want Malakai’s head on a silver platter."
Valerius’s eyes turned black with a sudden, violent lust. He slammed her back against the stone pillar, his body pinning hers, his heavy thigh forcing her legs apart.
"Do you have any idea what you’re asking, Seraphina?" he growled, his face inches from hers. "If I take this deal... I won't just kill for you. I will ruin you. I will mark every inch of this skin so the King will never want to touch you again."
"Then do it," Seraphina challenged, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Ruin me, Duke. Make me yours before the night is over."
