Chapter 97: Her Grace
The chapel stank of wax and damp air.
A girl with blonde hair knelt before the veiled statue, hands clasped, head bowed. The cloth over the figure’s face hung loose where the stone had crumbled, leaving only the lips—smooth, curved, and faintly smiling. Around them, dozens of candles burned with smoke as black as soot, curling up to vanish into the rafters.
"He will come," she whispered. Her voice scraped like sand on marble. The crown in her hands gleamed once before she drove it hard against her chest. The metal sank, slow and deliberate, vanishing into her flesh as if her ribs had been waiting for it.
From the dark behind the altar, two hands reached out. One gloved. One bleeding. Their fingers brushed. The floor split open with a sound like shattering glass.
A banquet hall flickered across a battlefield—tables overturned, swords planted in roast meat, wine running down steps already slick with blood. One hand tried to hold on. The other slipped away.
A single drop fell. It hit the floor and grew into a flower of mirrors, cold, and bright, then crumbled to dust.
When the world steadied, a throne stood half-buried in salt. The girl rose from the ground, her face hidden beneath her hair, the broken crown pressed to her heart. Each step toward the throne cut her feet open. She walked anyway. The statue behind her seemed to grin wider through the veil.
Before she could sit, the throne collapsed into ash. She spoke a single word: "Again." Red light consumed everything.
Seris jerked upright with a small sound, breath snatched, eyes wild. The room leaned, swaying like a tide that hadn’t decided which way to go.
The dream slipped from her hands before she could hold it.
The gasp faded as soon as it came. Her face reset, calm and dry like an untouched page. She sat up, brushed the hair from her cheek, and looked toward the window. The world outside was still dark, though a strip of pale orange waited under the clouds.
The sun had been early lately. Everything was early these days.
A knock came. She said, "Enter."
Her butler stepped in, tall, square-shouldered and gray haired, holding the morning tray. "Your Grace, you have early visitors."
"Who?"
"Your uncle and aunt. They arrived half an hour ago."
Seris sighed, rubbed her temple once, then said, "Keep them entertained. I’ll come down soon."
He bowed and left without sound.
She bathed alone, as always. The servants waited outside while she stood under cold water, breathing until her thoughts stopped moving. She liked the silence. The soap smelled faintly of pear. When she stepped out, the marble floor chilled her feet awake.
Dressing was different. The maids entered in pairs, one to brush her hair, one to dab her lips red. The uniform of Airantis Academy lay folded on the bed. She wore it instead of a gown. There was no point changing twice for one tedious meeting.
When she entered the sitting room, her uncle Theren Valemont and aunt Elune Valemont rose at once. Their smiles were bright but trembled at the edges. She did not bow. She was, after all, the duchess.
"Seris, dear," her aunt began, hands clasped too tightly, "you look pale. Are you well?"
"Fine," Seris said. "You’re up early."
Theren gave a short laugh. "Travel fatigue, nothing more. We heard of the royal engagement and thought—well, it seemed a good chance to visit."
Seris sat and folded her hands on the table. "How considerate."
Lady Elune leaned forward. "We wondered if you might speak with Lord Dawnforge. He respects you. If you could suggest our heir for his younger daughter—"
Seris raised an eyebrow. "Your son or your plan?"
The uncle hesitated. "Both, ideally."
"So a package deal."
Her aunt’s smile trembled. "You make it sound transactional."
"It is."
A silence stretched, broken only by the tick of the mantel clock. Her uncle cleared his throat. "We only ask a word from you. It costs nothing."
Seris looked at him. "Then say it yourself. He might enjoy the change."
Lady Elune tried to recover. "Seris, you’ve always been clever, but this stubbornness—"
Seris tilted her head. "If I said yes, what would you give me?"
"Family goodwill," her uncle said quickly.
"Is that still worth anything?"
They both flinched. She’d said it mildly, without interest, but it landed anyway.
The aunt’s voice grew sharp. "You always twist things. Do you want to see us humiliated? You’d rather cut your wrist and die than lift a finger for family, is that it?"
"If that helps you sleep," Seris said.
The aunt’s breath hitched. "Do you want to see me die, then?" She snatched the butter knife from the tray and pressed it against her wrist. "Would that make you happy?"
Seris looked at her hand. "You’re holding a butter knife."
The aunt froze.
Seris stood, reached for a sharper one from the fruit plate, and placed it carefully before her. "This will do better. Across the vein, not along. Shorter path, faster result."
The aunt stared, mouth open. Theren stood abruptly, face red.
"Enough!" he said. "We come asking kindness, and you mock us like this?"
Seris placed the knife back on the tray. "I’m helping. You said she’d rather die. I showed her how."
Lady Elune muttered something about arrogance and upbringing, clutching her husband’s arm. They left in a hurry, shoes scraping the tiles.
When the door shut, Seris turned to the butler. "Are my arrangements ready?"
"Yes, Your Grace. The carriage waits."
He paused before they moved on. "When would you like me to arrange the interview for the new reader?"
Seris thought for a moment. "End of the week. I’ll have more time then."
He nodded. "Very well, Your Grace."
They walked down the corridor. The sky had brightened into dull silver. A servant she didn’t recognize stood by the stairs, head lowered.
"Is he new?" she asked.
"Yes," the butler replied. "He started not long ago. Promising worker."
She gave the man a glance, then moved on.
At the entrance, Aline waited, her hair tied neatly, face half-covered by the morning scarf. Their family estates bordered each other’s lands, close enough that they’d always shared the same road to the academy. It had always been that way.
For a moment, an old memory brushed past—quiet mornings, shared rides, Aline’s voice cutting through the fog. It almost caught her off guard. She turned away before it could stay and walked out beside Aline.
"Morning," Aline said.
Seris nodded.
"You slept badly," Aline added, stepping into the carriage.
Seris got in after her. "You should apply to the priesthood. Your foresight’s improving."
Aline smirked. "You look like you fought a ghost."
"I won," Seris said.
The ride passed with Aline leading the talk—gossip, lessons, a new instructor who terrified half the class. Seris replied in fragments, cutting in with short remarks that turned most stories sideways.
When Aline mentioned someone’s secret romance, Seris said, "Tragic. They’ll probably marry and ruin it."
Aline rolled her eyes but laughed. It was their usual rhythm: Aline spoke, Seris punctured.
By the time they reached the academy, the courtyard buzzed with morning chatter. Servants crossed with books and scrolls. Bells rang once, sharp, and quick.
Inside, the halls smelled of chalk and varnish. Sunlight spilled in from the high windows, catching the brass lamps.
Seris walked beside Aline, adjusting her gloves, when she saw him ahead in the hall. Platinum hair. Bronze eyes. He wasn’t alone. Two others flanked him—Elias with his practiced smile and Rapheldor, taller, speaking in low rhythm. They moved together, heads slightly bent, the kind of quiet that drew attention without trying.
They came from the opposite end of the corridor, expression blank. Their gazes aligned for half a second, then slid apart. Neither slowed.
Aline’s breath hitched, words gathering on her tongue.
"Don’t," Seris said, already tired of the topic she knew Aline will bring.
They kept walking.
Soon they reached the classroom before the first bell. Aline’s mood lifted the moment the door opened. She waved, called out two names, and dropped her bag on the nearest desk. Her words filled the room before the windows caught the morning glare.
Seris sat near the back, giving Aline her space. Watching her talk was like seeing a match flare—brief and brilliant. The others crowded around, laughing too quickly and repeating the same lines from the day before.
Seris adjusted her cuffs and opened her notebook. Aline was the only person she allowed near her without effort. Everyone else stayed at a safe distance, by instinct or experience. Aline’s chatter filled the air like it belonged there, and Seris let it. That alone was proof of how rare her only friend was.
While the others were trading jokes, something stirred on the grain of her desk. Thin lines darkened, curling into letters.
"It’s done. Now your turn."
The words hung there for a breath, inkless yet clear, before fading. Only the dots remained. Five of them, small, and neat, forming a pentagram.
Seris looked once, closed the notebook over it, and glanced across the room. Nobody was watching. Aline was still laughing with someone near the window.
Seris brushed the spot with her thumb. The wood was smooth. Her expression didn’t change. She turned another page and waited for the lecture to start.