They called Seraphina was the most shameless, most scandalous princess the lycan capital had ever seen — and one jug of spiked wine had finished off nineteen years of the Luna Temple’s priest’s sacred vows of purity. Rumors spread like wildfire: surely she would use the scandal to force a royal decree, demanding the priest leave his post and marry her. After all, she and the current Lycan King were twins. She was his most cherished person in the world. At ten years old, she’d marched into the royal court and yanked three white hairs clean from the Royal Tutor’s beard. At twelve, she’d snapped the General’s ceremonial sword in half before an entire assembly. At sixteen, she’d moved out of the palace and set herself up in her own estate — with ninety-nine lovers on retainer. The common folk dared only mutter behind closed doors about what a shameless creature she was, and they all wagered on when the King would finally issue the decree forcing the priest to marry her. But half a month passed. The palace and the Princess’s estate were both deathly silent. The Princess who had always been so brash and loud — she stopped making her daily pilgrimages up Frostpeak Mountain, stopped using “prayer” as a flimsy excuse to chase after the priest. She stopped throwing jealous tantrums every time the priest lit a candle blessing for one of her handmaidens. This time, Seraphina simply knelt in the palace, her spine straight as a blade. “Brother,” her voice was eerily calm, “grant me a decree to ride to the borderlands as a marriage alliance, mating with Ironrust Pack’s alpha.” … The Lycan King shot to his feet and reached for her hands himself. “The border may be restless, but I will never send my sister away as a peace bride! Besides, you’ve been in love with the priest since we were children! You took lovers the moment you left the palace — ruined your own reputation on purpose — just so no matchmaker could ever pair you with someone else.” The King tightened his grip on her hands. “And now — Caden has already petitioned me. He plans to release his sacred flame at the next full moon ceremony and leave the Temple. After the ceremony, he intends to take you as his mate. Sera, why are you—” Seraphina blinked, just once. He was going to leave the Temple? He wanted to marry her? But she straightened up quickly, lowered her lashes, and spoke in a voice rough as gravel: “Brother. I no longer wish to marry him.” “Why?” Because the person who had shared that shameful night with him was never her to begin with. The wine had been her birthday gift to him — she’d poured it herself with her own hands. But he’d taken only one sip before collapsing into unconsciousness. Panicked, she’d run down the mountain in a blizzard to fetch a healer. When she returned, she learned he had spent the night with Roselyn. Roselyn was her most trusted handmaiden. That was when she discovered the wine had been laced with a desire-inducing drug. Furious, she demanded answers — and all she got in return was his ice-cold stare. “Princess. Let this end here. If you dig further, the truth about Roselyn and me will come out — and with her low station, she’ll have no way to defend herself.” But the story leaked anyway. Only it twisted into something else entirely: that Seraphina had drugged the priest and forced him into a scandalous night. The ministers who had long despised her seized the chance to file petitions against her. She tried to clear her name — and he stopped her again. “Roselyn is innocent. She shouldn’t suffer for this. But you’re different. Your reputation is already notorious, and your rank protects you. People will forget soon enough.” He said it like it was obvious. Like she deserved everything raining down on her. But he knew, better than anyone, that every outrageous thing she’d ever done had been because she loved him. The entire capital cursed her name. Fanatical devotees of the Luna Temple knelt at the palace gates daily, demanding she die in penance. And she never said a single word in her own defense — because when she was ten years old, he had saved her life. Consider us even, she thought. From here, we owe each other nothing. The King stared at her for a long time. This was the sister who had always looked out for him since they were small. This was the fearless, reckless Seraphina who was afraid of nothing under the sky. But the person kneeling before him now looked like someone whose heart had already died. At last, he let out a long, heavy breath. “I… grant it.” Seraphina was about to rise when hurried footsteps echoed from outside the hall. The head chamberlain entered with a deep bow. “Your Majesty. A joint petition — signed by the entire court—” The King took the scroll and his expression darkened with fury. “They want the Princess to crawl on her knees up all nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps of Frostpeak Mountain — one kowtow per step — as a public apology to the priest? To appease public outrage?” Seraphina lowered her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. The ninth-generation priest of Frostpeak Mountain — Caden Vale — was the most extraordinary one the Temple had ever produced. Skin pale as first snow. Eyes sharp and cool. An air about him like a solitary peak above the clouds — utterly untouched by the world below. His divinations never failed. When he prayed for rain, rain came. He was revered by all — second only to the Lycan King himself, first in the hearts of the people. She had ruined him. The court wanted her to grovel. It made sense. “Absurd! Go tell them — she’s already agreed to the marriage alliance.” “Brother.” Seraphina stopped him, her expression unreadable. “If we announce the marriage alliance now, the Ironrust Pack will think my intentions aren’t sincere. It’s better to reveal it at the same time as the Keeper’s succession ceremony. It will prevent too much unrest.” She paused. “As for the steps — I’ll kneel them. To keep the peace.” … At the base of Frostpeak Mountain, nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps rose straight up into the clouds. The stairs were buried in thick snow. Ice hung from the pines on either side. The wind cut like a blade. Seraphina stood at the foot of the steps. She was about to lift her foot when voices drifted down from above. It was Caden and his head acolyte. “Why would the priest want to marry the Princess?” The acolyte couldn’t hide his confusion. “She wronged you. Your name is in ruins because of her. Why would you take her?” Seraphina’s foot froze mid-step. That was a fair question. Why had Caden petitioned to marry her? He could have stayed on the mountain even after leaving the Temple. He didn’t have to take anyone. Was it out of guilt? To compensate her? She needed to set him straight — she didn’t want his charity. But then that cool, snow-like voice answered: “Roselyn and I have understood each other since childhood. We were always… bound, by something. But our stations made it impossible.” Caden’s voice was detached. “If I marry the Princess, I can see Roselyn every single day.” Seraphina stood at the bottom of the steps. She heard every word. Her eyes burned, her nose stung — and yet, she laughed. Of course. He wanted to marry her for Roselyn. He said he and Roselyn had understood each other since they were young. That they were kindred spirits. Then what was she? When she was a child, she had fought to protect Caden time and again after he saved her. Her father’s fury eventually locked her inside the palace walls. So she had Roselyn carry letters to him — one after another, year after year — until the day her brother took the throne and she was finally free. She thought Roselyn was her messenger. She never imagined she’d been the one who had let those two fall in love. No wonder he protected Roselyn so fiercely. Seraphina tipped her head back and gazed up at those endless, endless steps. The corner of her mouth curved. Fine. After mated with Ironrust Pack’s alpha, they would never have anything to do with each other again.
She was just about to kneel when a commotion erupted behind her. Seraphina turned. Roselyn was leading a massive crowd of Temple devotees, marching toward her in a great tide. Roselyn stood at the front, head dipped, playing the picture of timid innocence. “I’m sorry, Your Highness — I couldn’t stop them.” Seraphina looked at the crowd behind Roselyn. They had clearly followed her footsteps here. She almost laughed at the irony. She used to treat Roselyn like a sister. Even that night — she’d gone running down a blizzard-covered mountain for a healer because she believed Roselyn when she said “the priest has been poisoned.” And the result? She later pieced together the truth: the drug in that wine had been placed there by Roselyn herself. The only reason she’d let Roselyn live was because Caden had begged for her life — and because they’d grown up together since they were girls. Her other handmaiden, Ivy, couldn’t hold back any longer. She stepped forward, her voice sharp: “Didn’t the priest personally request a favor, leaving you to recover at the estate? And you claim you couldn’t stop them? You led them here yourself, didn’t you?” Roselyn’s eyes went red, tears trembling at the edges. “Ivy, I really didn’t—” She never finished. A flash of white moved at the top of the steps. A figure descended. Caden — white robes, ink-dark hair pinned with jade, his expression sharp as carved stone — strode down the steps and walked directly to Roselyn’s side. Without a word, he unclasped his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s freezing. Why did you come out?” His voice held a warmth Seraphina had never once heard him use with her. Roselyn’s eyes turned red, and she explained the whole situation — the petition, the crowd, the steps. Caden frowned faintly, then glanced over at Seraphina with something close to reproach. Something in Seraphina’s chest went still. Then it clenched, slow and hard. Roselyn could say anything and he would believe her. She had spoken her true heart to him for years and years. He had never believed a word. She didn’t bother opening her mouth. She simply turned back toward the steps, bent her knees, and knelt. One step, one bow. The crowd went silent for a breath — then the curses crashed over her like a wave. And then, somewhere in the mob, someone threw the first stone. It struck her across the back. More followed. Rocks. Clods of frozen earth. They rained down on her from all sides. Blood ran from her temple, mixing with meltwater, blurring her vision. She didn’t stop. Caden instinctively moved forward — but a sharp cry rose beside him. Roselyn swayed, her face draining to white, and crumpled against his chest. Caden caught her instantly, barking orders at the acolytes behind him: “Fetch a healer.” As he turned to carry Roselyn away, his eyes drifted back once more to that lone figure on the steps. A strange heaviness settled in his chest. Before, whenever she looked at him, her gaze had burned. Fierce and hungry, like she wanted to consume him whole. And she never called him by his proper title. Only ever: Caden. Or sometimes, when she was teasing, cute Caden But just now — from start to finish — she hadn’t looked at him once. The word that fell from her lips was his formal title: priest. From morning she knelt. Through dusk. Into dark. By the time the sun sank completely, Seraphina’s knees had long since worn through to raw flesh, blood gumming her skin to the stone. Her shoulders were bruised and torn from the stones that had struck her. Blood had soaked through her robes. When she crawled up the last step, her body pitched forward — and she collapsed in the snow before the gates of the Snowveil Sanctum.
When she woke, Seraphina was lying in a guest room inside the Snowveil Sanctum. Ivy sat at her bedside, spooning warm water into her mouth while tears streamed silently down her face. “Your Highness — the priest does care for you, in his own way. He had hot water drawn for you. He even gave specific instructions for you to stay and recover as long as you need.” Seraphina’s voice came out as a ragged scrape. “No. Pack everything. We’re going down.” Ivy blinked. “Now? Your wounds—” “I won’t die.” Seraphina braced herself upright. The marriage alliance mission was pressing. There was business at the estate to settle. She had no time to linger here. And she had no desire to lie here listening to what was happening next door. She had been gravely wounded last night — and through the thin wall, she had heard it all. Roselyn’s soft moans. Caden’s murmured reassurances. “Caden, it hurts — you were too rough last time…” “Don’t be afraid. I’ll apply the salve for you.” Even the memory made her stomach turn. She swung her legs off the bed, and the moment her knees touched the floor, searing agony shot through them. She clenched her jaw, gripped the bedpost, and forced herself upright. Just then, a soft knock. Roselyn’s voice through the door: “Your Highness. May I have a few words?” The small frozen lake behind the Sanctum had a skin of thin ice. The two women stood at its edge, saying nothing for a long moment. Finally, Roselyn broke the silence: “Your Highness. Caden told me last night — after he marries you, he’ll find an appropriate time to bring me into the household as well. I don’t ask to compete with you for anything. I only want to stay by his side. From that day on, I will honor you as the head of the household and serve you with all respect!” Seraphina finally turned to face her. Her gaze was level. Still. Without a trace of warmth. Roselyn faltered under that look. Seraphina stepped closer. Her voice was soft. “Everything you’ve done — I know it all. The only reason you’re still alive is because we grew up together.” She paused. “But from this day forward — don’t let me see your face.” She turned to leave. Roselyn’s color drained white. As Seraphina walked away, Roselyn gritted her teeth and lunged — grabbing her by the sleeve. “Your Highness! Please—” Seraphina’s brow furrowed. She shook Roselyn’s hand off — not hard, barely any force — but Roselyn suddenly pitched backward and tumbled into the lake. “Help! Someone help me!” She thrashed in the water, screaming. Acolytes and servants came running from every direction, and the whispers started immediately. “Was that the Princess? Did she push her?” “Of course she did — she’s always been jealous. She can’t stand Roselyn.” “The priest adores Roselyn — she did it on purpose…” And then a white figure burst through the crowd. Caden didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat. He plunged into the lake. He carried Roselyn out of the water, wrapped the robe someone handed him around her soaking body — and then he looked up at Seraphina. That gaze. Cold as the ice that had never thawed at Frostpeak Mountain’s peak. It froze every word in her throat. Seraphina felt something in her chest get carved out slowly, like a knife working through bone. Caden turned and shoved past her — not violently, but not gently either — and strode off with Roselyn, shouting for a healer. Seraphina had been weakened. The nudge sent her stumbling backward. Her elbow cracked hard against the stone edge of the path. Caden’s step hitched. A complicated flicker crossed his eyes. But Roselyn whimpered from his arms, and he walked away without looking back. That night, Roselyn ran a high fever. And Caden — the revered priest, who had never once compromised his dignity — stripped down to only his inner robes and lay in the snow until his own body temperature dropped to ice. Then he went back to hold Roselyn close, using his own warmth to bring her fever down. All through the night. Into the next day. When Ivy reported this to Seraphina, she was shaking with fury. “Your Highness! After everything you’ve done for him — he won’t give you a single real look! He froze himself half to death in the snow for that girl, but you— And to think — when you were confined to the palace all those years ago, you split your mother’s gemstone brooch in half and gave one piece to him. And this is how he repays you!” “Ivy.” Seraphina’s voice cut through quietly. She coughed twice. “That’s enough.” The door burst open.
Caden entered like a storm, the cold fury around him almost visible. He crossed the room in three strides, seized Seraphina’s wrist, and hauled her off the bed — dragging her without a word toward the door. “What are you doing?!” Ivy lunged forward, but one look from him stopped her cold. Caden dragged Seraphina into Roselyn’s room. Roselyn lay in the bed. When she saw Seraphina, she struggled to rise, her voice thin: “Your Highness — this is my fault. I should never have said those things to you…” Caden shoved Seraphina forward. “Apologize to her.” Seraphina looked at him. “I did nothing wrong.” Caden’s jaw tightened. “You pushed her into the lake and you call that nothing wrong?” The grip on her wrist crushed tighter — nearly enough to grind bone. Seraphina laughed. It was a quiet, strange laugh. “Caden Vale. You may be second to none in this kingdom — but I am still the Princess. We have nothing to do with each other. You have no authority to command me.” Nothing to do with each other? Caden’s expression went flat and cold. “Don’t play innocent. I’ve already petitioned the King. I will take you as my mate after the ceremony. I’m to be your husband — is that authority enough?” He yanked her toward him — barely using force — but Seraphina was already so weak that she simply crumpled to her knees on the floor. Her knees hit the ground hard. The scabs that had barely formed split open again. Black swam at the edge of her vision. She didn’t cry out. She just stared down, watching blood bloom slowly outward from the wounds. He loved the world. He loved his devotees. He loved the people. He would spare tenderness for a bird, for an ant. The only person he had never loved — the only one he had always found so easy to hurt — was her. Roselyn grew frantic. “No — you can’t make Her Highness kneel before me, it’s my fault, I—” She dissolved into a violent coughing fit. Caden rushed to her side. “Stay still. Don’t strain yourself.” Roselyn sagged against him, catching her breath. Then her eyes drifted — and Caden followed her gaze to the small pouch hanging at Seraphina’s waist. He paused. Then he saw the blood spreading across the floor. In one swift motion, he reached down and unhooked the pouch from Seraphina’s belt. He pressed it into Roselyn’s hands. “Consider this her apology. Help the Princess up. Let that be the end of it.” Seraphina let out a quiet breath of a laugh. That pouch was the only thing Caden had ever given her. She’d carried it against her skin for three years. Well. Things she should never have kept in the first place. She pushed away the hands trying to help her, swayed to her feet on her own, and walked out. Caden watched her back until it disappeared. His brow furrowed deeper. She hadn’t said a word. He’d expected, at minimum, anger. Tears. He’d expected her to spin around and confront him, the way she always used to — eyes red, demanding to know why. She used to make jealous scenes over the most trivial things. Once, because he’d lit a single candle blessing for Roselyn during a ceremony, she’d sulked until he lit ninety-nine more. She had treated every small gift he’d ever given her like a treasure. He’d once offhandedly praised a line of poetry — she’d copied it out a hundred times and bound it into a little book. He’d absentmindedly snapped off a branch of winter plum — she’d put it in water and refused to throw it out for an entire month, even as the petals dried and fell. Now this… blankness. As if he no longer mattered to her at all. Something constricted in Caden’s chest, strange and sharp. But Roselyn stirred against him, and he pushed the feeling down. He was about to marry the Princess. If he didn’t correct her behavior now — while he still had some authority as the priest — he would have even less control once he was only an ordinary man. Roselyn would suffer for it. He could not afford to go soft.
Back in her room, Seraphina bound her wounds and went straight back to packing. This room had been hers on previous stays at the Sanctum — she’d put little touches of herself everywhere. Now she had Ivy take them all down, one by one. By the time dark fell, they finally rested. Ivy was crying again, her anger building with every word: “I was blind before — I used to think the priest treated you well. If you had actually married him, you would have been miserable every single day…” Seraphina finally spoke. “I won’t be marrying him.” The door crashed open again. Caden stood in the doorway, his expression like a sky about to break. “What did you just say?” Ivy startled, stepping in front of Seraphina. Caden ignored her, eyes fixed on Seraphina alone. “What did you just say? Are you refusing to allow Roselyn into the household?” “I promised you — outside of her, no one else would enter. You and Roselyn grew up in the same world. Why must you be so intolerant of her?” Seraphina said nothing. Caden drew a sharp breath. “What do you want?” “Nothing. If you have something to say, say it.” She finally looked up. “I’m leaving at first light.” Caden glanced at the wounds on her knees. Then at her bloodless face. Something uncomfortable churned through him — a restless, sourceless irritation. “No one is throwing you out. Why do you have to act pitiful? Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Ivy had heard enough. Her voice shook with barely restrained indignation: “priest, that’s going too far. Our Princess has never once played the victim. And besides, there are plenty of people at the estate waiting on her. We’d rather not be in the way of your… arrangements.” Caden’s expression tightened further. He thought of the ninety-nine lovers at the Princess’s estate. A cold sound escaped him. “No wonder you’re in such a hurry. Missing your lovers already. Then leave — right now. At least with you gone, Roselyn won’t have to be afraid all the time.” Seraphina’s hands stilled. He wanted her to leave. Right now. In the dead of night. In the snow. She looked up and met those cold, empty eyes. He wasn’t joking. “One more thing,” Caden’s voice dropped further. “We’ll be wed in a fortnight. I expect every one of those lovers gone before then.” Seraphina closed her eyes. She thought of the letters she’d sent him over the years — every one of them her truest heart. She had told him, in those letters, that she had never touched those men. She kept them only to turn away matchmakers. She was waiting for him, and only him. He had never believed a single word. And now he was using it to wound her again. “Since that’s why you came, I’ll leave.” Ivy’s voice cracked. “Your Highness — it’s the middle of the night. Your wounds—” “Let’s go.” Seraphina braced herself upright, and walked out the door. Ivy followed, crying. Caden stayed where he was and watched her silhouette vanish into the wind and dark. The heaviness in his chest grew heavier. Something pressed down on him, made it hard to breathe. The priest — who was always so composed, so untouched, who prided himself on feeling neither pleasure nor sorrow — found that his temper always seemed to ignite so easily around Seraphina. He drew a slow breath, and noticed for the first time what she’d done to the room. The landscape painting she’d hung on the wall — gone. The small pot of winter plum she’d been tending on the windowsill — gone. She had said once, with a laugh, that a room needed these things to feel like a home. And now it was bare. Stripped clean. Like she had never been here at all. Caden’s fist closed slowly at his side. Something pierced him, sudden and deep. He thought, perhaps, that he was coming down with something. He ought to have a healer look at him.
The mountain trail was treacherous. Snow had buried the path ankle-deep. Seraphina took each step slowly, like she was pressing her feet down onto knife blades. Every time her knees bent, pain ripped through her body in waves so violent her whole frame shuddered. Ivy gripped her arm, weeping silently with every step. They were halfway down the mountain when a howl split the dark. Then — eyes. Twin points of pale green glowing in the black, then more, and more. Witches? How could there be witches here? Before Serafina could even think, Ivy was already trembling—but she still stood in front of Serafina. “Your Highness, run! I’ll hold them off!” Seraphina tried to grab her, but it was too late. The witches’ fiery arrows were already raining down on them, capable of instantly stripping werewolves of all their strength. “Ah—!” Ivy screamed, blood splattering onto the snow. Seraphina drew a dagger from her waist, unleashing the unique aura of a lycan, and moved into a giant white wolf, charging towards the witches. But the witches outnumbered her, unleashing their magic from a distance. By the time she had finally driven them all away, Ivy had collapsed beside her, the ground beneath her feet stained dark red, her face almost as red as the snow. “Your Highness… run… don’t worry about me…” Seraphina’s carefully held composure cracked. This was the girl who had grown up beside her. Her last remaining sister. “Ivy.” Seraphina’s voice shook. “Ivy, stay with me — keep your eyes open—” She didn’t let herself panic. She clenched her teeth, hoisted Ivy onto her back, and started climbing. Up. Back toward the Sanctum. She didn’t know how long she walked. She only knew that every step burned her to the bone, and she didn’t stop, because she couldn’t afford to. Finally, the gates of the Snowveil Sanctum appeared through the dark. She stumbled forward and pounded her fist against the wood. The gate swung open — and before she could speak, acolytes surged toward her shouting: “The Princess has been found!” “The moonstone choker from Roselyn’s coat has been poisoned — she’s barely holding on!” “Every healer is inside! Bring the Princess at once!” “That wasn’t me — please, help Ivy first—” Her voice came out like shredded silk. She was barely conscious herself, one arm pointing toward Ivy’s crumpled form on the ground behind her. But no one heard her. They all stared at her like she was a monster who had just crawled up from the earth. More acolytes pushed forward: “Roselyn’s been poisoned — the healers say only the blood drawn from above the heart of the one who poisoned her can serve as the antidote!” Seraphina was dragged into a room and shoved to the floor. Caden stood beside the bed, holding Roselyn’s limp body in his arms. He didn’t even look at her. Just spoke in a voice scraped clean of everything: “Take the blood. Save her.” “That’s not—” Seraphina couldn’t finish the sentence. The knife came down before she could say another word. “Ahh—!” A short, broken cry tore from her as the blade plunged into her chest. Blood welled and dripped, one drop at a time, into the bowl below. Her awareness narrowed to a tunnel. She held on as long as she could — and then a gush of blood rose in her throat and spilled from her lips. She fell. In the darkness, she thought she heard someone calling her name. But she couldn’t hear it anymore. She hadn’t saved Ivy yet. She was so sorry. She was so sorry…
When she woke, Seraphina was looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. A blade of pain lived in her chest. An unknown handmaiden knelt at her bedside. “You’re awake, Your Highness. This is the priest’s new estate — it was prepared for the ceremony, to receive you as his mate.” Seraphina didn’t take any of that in. “Where is Ivy?” The handmaiden went very still, kneeling, and began to tremble. Seraphina understood then. She threw back the covers and lurched to her feet. The wound stitched across her chest tore open. She felt nothing. She was already running, bare feet on cold stone, crashing through the door. Outside, a heavy snowfall. And several servants moving slowly, carrying a coffin out toward the gates. Seraphina stopped. Then she lunged forward, wild. “Ivy! Ivy!!” A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and locked tight. Caden’s brow was drawn together, his voice sharp and urgent. “Stop — are you out of your mind? Your chest wound just closed!” Seraphina wrenched free and turned. The way she looked at him made him go still. “SMACK!” Her palm cracked across his face. Every person in the courtyard froze. Every knee hit the ground. Caden’s head turned with the blow. A vivid handprint rose on his cheek. “You—” “I hate you.” Seraphina’s voice shook, but every word was carved sharp. “Caden Vale. I hate you. I will kill you. I will kill that girl too. They owe Ivy her life!” The words landed in Caden’s chest like a fist. He recovered, and his voice came out low and harder than he meant it to: “Enough. You have any idea what you’re saying? You were the one who struck first — you poisoned the choker. Ivy’s wounds were from the witches. What does any of that have to do with Roselyn?” Seraphina laughed. A thin, broken sound. “That brooch was taken from me by you. How was I supposed to poison it in advance? How could I have known you would give it away?” Caden went rigid. He opened his mouth. No sound came. He thought back. Roselyn had been coughing blood. The healer said the brooch was poisoned — that only the poisoner’s own blood could serve as the antidote. He had panicked. He’d only wanted to save her. But now… What Seraphina was saying also made sense. “It’s all my fault — every bit of it!” A figure hurled itself out from inside. Roselyn fell to her knees between them, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t fight because of me! I will pay with my life!” And before anyone could react, she snatched the dagger from Seraphina’s belt and raised it toward her own throat. “Roselyn!” Caden lunged and tore the blade from her hands, pulling her into his arms. Seraphina’s voice came out flat as stone. “You really should die.” She grabbed the dagger and drove it toward Roselyn— “Enough!” Caden shoved Seraphina back. She hit the snow. The wound tore fully open. Pain crumpled her where she lay. “You try to stab her right in front of me? And you still want to deny the poisoning?” Caden stared down at her, and his eyes held something she hadn’t seen before: not anger, but deep, quiet disappointment. “Seraphina. You are petty, jealous, and consumed by obsession.” He looked at her once more. Then he turned away. “Take the Princess to her room. Keep her there until she’s recovered.” She was dragged inside regardless of how she cursed and screamed. At midnight, the fight drained out of her completely. She slumped against the headboard. And then she heard it. A faint rustling. Her whole body locked. Snakes. Her most primal, bone-deep terror. She hadn’t even screamed before one shot toward her from the dark — and sank its fangs into her flesh. The only person who knew about her fear of snakes was Caden. Three years ago, she had visited him at the mountain, and found a snake in the guest room. He had caught it and carried it out himself. That same night, he had given her the pouch — his voice cool but careful: “Princess, don’t be afraid. This will keep snakes away.” And now he had sent snakes to punish her. Darkness. More rustling. They came from everywhere at once — writhing over her legs, striking, striking again. She convulsed, seized on the floor, unable to crawl, her throat too injured to scream. Footsteps outside the door. Then Caden’s voice: “Don’t blame me for this.”
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