SERAPHINA
The chapel is small and private, tucked away in the eastern wing of the palace where few would think to look. There are no guests, no celebration, no flowers decorating the altar.
Just me, Lord Kingston Gravehood, and the elder who will perform the ceremony.
And my parents, standing as witnesses to this desperate gamble.
I smooth my hands over the ivory silk of my dress, one of Mother's, hastily altered to fit me. It's beautiful, with delicate embroidery along the bodice and sleeves that flow like water. Under different circumstances, I might have loved wearing it.
But this isn't a real wedding. This is survival.
Lord Kingston stands beside me at the altar, tall and composed in formal dark gray. He's handsome in a refined way—golden hair, warm brown eyes, a kind smile. When
