The journey to Ravenhollow was not for the faint-hearted.
Seraphina sat in the swaying carriage, her cloak pulled tightly around her. Cold mist seeped through the windowpanes, fogging the glass as the horses trotted deeper into the cursed territory. Outside, gnarled trees bent like ancient witches, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky.
Mira sat across from her, visibly pale. "My lady, are you sure… we should do this?"
"No," Seraphina said softly. "But I'm doing it anyway."
There was no turning back. Not after what she'd learned, not after facing Kael and the judgmental stares of the court. The Empire had chosen its villainess. Now she would play the role to perfection.
And if marrying the cursed Duke meant she could rewrite her story—then so be it.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived.
Nightspire Keep loomed before them, carved from obsidian stone, its towers veiled in thick mist. The iron gates creaked open as they approached, revealing a cobbled courtyard slick with frost. Servants in black stepped forward silently to help them down.
No torches. No welcome party. Only silence.
Mira hesitated before following.
Inside, the castle was colder than the night. Black banners hung from the ceiling like shadows frozen mid-flight. The air smelled faintly of ash and roses—an oddly haunting combination.
A steward bowed before them. "His Grace awaits you in the west wing, my lady."
Seraphina followed the steward through winding halls, her heartbeat quickening. The further they walked, the darker the walls became—etched with strange runes, lit by ghostly sconces that burned blue.
Finally, the doors opened to a large study, its walls lined with books and ancient weapons. A fireplace crackled, casting a dim glow across the room.
And there he stood.
Duke Lucien Nightbane.
Taller than she remembered from the portraits. Dressed in black, with dark silver embroidery and a half-cloak slung over one shoulder. His face was sharp, his jaw strong, and his crimson eyes locked onto her with unreadable intent.
He didn't bow. Didn't smile.
Only said, "You came."
"You invited me," she replied.
"I didn't expect you to be brave enough to accept."
She stepped closer, lifting her chin. "Then you don't know me very well."
Lucien's mouth curved into something close to amusement. "Apparently not."
He walked to the table and poured two glasses of wine. "Tell me, Lady Seraphina… why have you truly come?"
"You read my letter."
"I read many things. I want to hear it from you."
Seraphina hesitated—then dropped all pretense.
"I am a woman marked for destruction. The Crown sees me as an inconvenience. My stepsister seeks my title. My fiancé—former fiancé—has enemies wearing friendly faces."
He raised a brow. "And I am what? A shield?"
"No," she said. "A sword. The one they fear more than me."
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "You wish to use me."
"I offer you alliance," she countered. "I offer a match the Empire will never expect. Together, we are unpredictable."
"And broken," he murmured.
She didn't deny it.
Lucien picked up his wineglass, studying the liquid. "You know what they say about me, don't you?"
"I know what they whisper. That your blood is cursed. That your estate is haunted. That every bride you've courted has either fled or died."
"And yet here you are."
Seraphina met his gaze. "I've already died once, Your Grace. I'm not afraid to walk through fire again."
He took a slow sip of wine, never breaking eye contact. "What makes you think I want a wife?"
"I don't think you do," she said honestly. "But I think you want power. Protection. A way back into the court you abandoned."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then, with deliberate calm, he asked, "Would you marry a monster, Lady Seraphina?"
She stepped closer, until only a breath separated them.
"If the monster gives me a kingdom," she whispered, "I'll marry the devil himself."
Lucien let out a low chuckle. "Then welcome to hell, my lady."
Later that night, as Seraphina settled into her chamber—a room colder than ice and lined with velvet drapes—she stared out the window at the lake below.
Its surface was frozen, but beneath it, shadows moved.
She could feel it: this castle was not just cursed by rumor.
It was cursed by something real.
But she had made her choice.
And if she had to walk through curses and blood to survive, so be it.