Chapter 2: The Shame of House Sterling (2)
"The contract was signed when we were children," Cedric replied. His voice sounded wrong—strained, tired. "I honor my father's agreements."
Seraphina pushed the door open. Three heads turned toward her.
Count Sterling sat in his leather chair, assessment cold in his gray eyes. Lillian lounged on the settee, her ice flowers melting into puddles on the expensive carpet. And Cedric—
Cedric looked terrible.
His clothes were rumpled, expensive fabric creased as if he'd slept in it. Bloodshot eyes tracked her movement across the room. The smell of cheap wine clung to him like perfume.
"Cedric." Seraphina's voice came out smaller than she intended. "You came."
"Of course." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "We need to discuss the wedding."
"The wedding you've postponed twice?" Lillian's laugh was musical and cruel. "Sera, even you must see he's stalling. No noble wants a bride who can't even light a candle."
Count Sterling waved a dismissive hand. "Lillian, enough. Seraphina, your fiancé has graciously agreed to take you to dinner this evening to finalize the arrangements. You should be grateful."
Grateful. The word tasted like ash.
"I am grateful, Father."
Cedric stood abruptly, his hand closing around Seraphina's wrist. His grip was too tight, fingers pressing into bone. "Let's go. I've made reservations."
"Now?" Seraphina stumbled as he pulled her toward the door. "But it's barely past dawn—"
"I said we're leaving."
Count Sterling had already turned back to Lillian, discussing her upcoming enrollment in the Royal Magic Academy. Neither of them looked up as Cedric dragged Seraphina into the hallway.
"Cedric, please, you're hurting me—"
"Shut up." His voice was low and vicious. "Just shut up and walk."
They didn't go to the main entrance. Cedric led her through the servants' corridors to the guest wing, to a private dining room that hadn't been used in months. Dust covered the furniture. The curtains were drawn.
"Sit."
Seraphina sat. Her wrist throbbed where he'd gripped it, red marks blooming into bruises.
Cedric produced a bottle of wine from his coat—cheap vintage, the kind servants drank on holidays. He poured two glasses with shaking hands.
"To our future." He thrust a glass at her.
Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. But Seraphina took the glass because refusing would mean questions, and questions meant consequences.
"To our future," she echoed.
The wine tasted bitter. Wrong. But she drank anyway, watching Cedric's face across the dusty table. Watching the way his eyes wouldn't meet hers. Watching him reach into his pocket and pull out a small leather pouch.
Gold coins clinked as he counted them. One. Two. Three.
Seraphina's vision blurred.
"Cedric?" Her tongue felt thick. Heavy. The room tilted. "What did you—"
"Ten gold." He wasn't looking at her anymore. Just at the coins spread across the table, catching lamplight. "That's more than you're worth anyway."
Her body refused to move. The glass fell from nerveless fingers and shattered against the floor. She tried to speak, to scream, to do anything—
But darkness swallowed her whole.
Ten gold coins clinked against the wooden table, each one catching the lamplight as Cedric's face dissolved into shadow. Seraphina's last conscious thought was that she'd never heard such a lonely sound.
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