Chapter 2

When I finally lifted my head, Evelyne was crying.

I hated her for it.

How dare she cry? How dare she stand before me with tears shining in her eyes, as though she were the one whose heart had just been torn apart? She still had Lucien. She still had our family, her beautiful dresses, her place among the royal bloodlines. She had everything I had lost in a single sentence.

And yet, she was crying.

"Why?" I rasped. My throat felt raw, and every breath sent a sharp ache through my chest. "Why him?"

Evelyne knelt in front of me, reaching for my face with trembling fingers.

I slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me."

Her hand fell into her lap. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, to remind me that she was my sister and that I had no right to speak to her that way.

Instead, she whispered, "Seraphina, please. You don't understand what they were going to do to you."

I stared at her.

"Then explain it!"

My voice cracked against the chapel walls. The candles flickered, and somewhere behind me, my father muttered a curse.

Evelyne's eyes darted toward our parents.

That tiny movement told me everything.

My sister had known about the council's plan before I did. She had known there was something wrong with the ceremony, something dangerous enough that Lucien had been discussing my death. And instead of warning me, she had stepped into his arms.

She had chosen herself.

"I had to survive," she whispered.

The words settled between us like a final insult.

I looked down at my hands. My fingernails had broken against the stone floor when the mate bond snapped. Blood stained the pale skin around them.

"So did I."

Evelyne's face crumpled.

For a moment, I saw the little girl who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms, who stole sugared almonds from the kitchen and blamed me when we were caught. The girl who had once wrapped her tiny arms around my waist and promised that if the world ever turned against us, we would stand together.

I remembered believing her.

I remembered sharing my blankets when she was cold, giving her the bigger portion of every dessert, and taking the blame whenever Father grew angry with her. When other children mocked her for crying too easily, I had been the one who stood between her and their cruelty.

I had thought those things meant something.

Apparently, they had meant nothing at all.

"Was any of it real?" I asked.

Evelyne blinked. "What?"

"Us. All those years. Every time you told me you loved me. Was any of it real, or were you simply waiting for the moment you could take everything from me?"

"Don't say that." She shook her head frantically. "You know I love you."

"Then why are you wearing his ring?"

Her gaze dropped to the slender gold band on her finger.

I hadn't noticed it before.

A small stone glittered beneath the candlelight, engraved with the Ashford crest. An engagement ring. A royal promise.

My stomach twisted.

"How long?" I whispered.

She said nothing.

"How long have you been with him?"

"Seraphina—"

"How long?"

"Six months."

Six months.

For six months, she had sat beside me at breakfast. She had listened while I told her about Lucien's latest letters, the gifts he sent, and the future I imagined building with him. She had watched me blush whenever his name was mentioned.

For six months, she had smiled.

I wondered how many times she had gone to bed laughing at me.

I wondered how many times Lucien had kissed her after kissing me.

The thought made bile rise in my throat.

"Get away from me."

Evelyne rose slowly.

"I never wanted you to suffer."

"Then you should have left me alone."

She looked toward Lucien, as though expecting him to rescue her from the consequences of her own choices.

He did not move.

That was when I understood something else: Evelyne might have stolen my mate, but she had not won the love she imagined she had.

Lucien had never loved either of us enough to risk anything for us.

He had simply chosen the sister who was more useful.

And my family had decided that I was the price worth paying.

My father seized my arm.

"Enough of this."

His fingers dug into my skin. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened until pain shot through my wrist.

"Father, please." I hated how quickly the word escaped me, how instinctively I still searched for kindness in him. "I won't tell anyone what I heard. I won't challenge Lucien. I'll leave the kingdom if that's what you want. Just don't send me away."

His expression remained cold.

"You should have thought of that before you interfered in matters beyond your understanding."

"I didn't interfere with anything!"

"You were born into a bloodline with obligations."

"What obligations?" I demanded. "What does the council want from me?"

His jaw tightened.

For one brief second, something resembling fear crossed his face.

Then it vanished.

"Take her away."

The chapel doors opened.

Two guards entered, their black uniforms marked with the silver crest of the royal court. They had their hands on their weapons, and neither looked particularly surprised to find me on my knees.

They had been waiting outside.

Perhaps they had been waiting for hours.

"No." I scrambled backward. "No, you can't do this."

One guard caught my left arm. The other seized my right.

I fought them.

I kicked, twisted, and clawed at their sleeves, but they were trained warriors, while I was an Omega whose wolf had barely developed enough strength to protect me from an ordinary threat.

"Let me go!"

My scream echoed through the chapel.

I turned toward my mother.

She stood beside the altar, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.

"Mother!"

She flinched.

"Please, look at me!"

Slowly, she raised her head.

For a heartbeat, our eyes met.

I saw the tears gathering in hers. I saw the way her lips trembled, the way her fingers tightened around one another as though she were fighting an invisible battle.

I thought she might step forward.

I thought she might tell the guards to stop.

Instead, she whispered, "I'm sorry, my child."

Then she looked away.

Something inside me went quiet.

It was not acceptance. It was not forgiveness.

It was the death of a hope I had carried for twenty years.