The Moon that would not Kneel

Chapter 3. The things she could not take

Seraphine did not remember leaving the drawing room.

One moment she had been standing beneath her father's gaze.

The next, she was halfway up the staircase.

Her hands were cold.

Her feet felt strangely distant beneath her.

She kept hearing the same words.

You are going there to be chosen by him.

Not to meet him.

Not to speak with him.

Not even to decide whether she wanted him.

Chosen.

The word followed her up the stairs like a shadow.

When she reached her room, she shut the door behind her.

Then she leaned against it.

For several seconds, she simply stood there.

The room was quiet.

Her room had always been the only place in the House of Vale that belonged to her.

Or at least, she had pretended it did.

The pale curtains moved gently in the morning breeze. Sunlight spilled across the wooden floor. Her books were stacked unevenly beside the window, exactly where she had left them the night before.

Nothing had changed.

And yet everything had.

She pushed herself away from the door.

Her gaze fell upon the mirror.

The girl staring back at her looked unfamiliar.

White dress.

Loose dark hair.

Pale face.

Eyes that looked far too calm for someone whose life had just been decided for her.

Seraphine stepped closer.

"Chosen," she whispered.

The word sounded even uglier aloud.

A knock came at the door.

She did not answer.

Another knock.

Then the door opened anyway.

Mara slipped inside.

She was carrying a wooden tray with a cup of tea balanced on it.

"Before you say no, I'm leaving it here."

Seraphine looked at her.

Mara paused.

Then slowly set the tray down.

"You look terrible."

A faint smile touched Seraphine's lips.

"Thank you."

"I try to be honest."

Mara had been with the Vale household for nearly six years.

She was a few years older than Seraphine, with warm brown skin, thick black hair usually tied at the nape of her neck, and the peculiar ability to make even the most miserable situations sound mildly ridiculous.

She was also the only person in the house who spoke to Seraphine as though she were a person rather than an obligation.

Mara looked at the white dress.

Her expression changed.

"They told me."

Seraphine turned away from the mirror.

"How much?"

"Enough."

"That isn't an answer."

Mara sighed.

"They're packing your things."

Seraphine stared at her.

"Already?"

"The capital is six days away."

"Six days."

"Five and a half, if your father gets his way."

Seraphine gave a humourless laugh.

"Of course he will."

Mara moved toward the wardrobe.

"They want you at the palace before the Convocation begins."

Seraphine said nothing.

Mara opened the doors.

Inside were dozens of dresses.

Silk.

Velvet.

Lace.

Colours Seraphine had rarely chosen herself.

Mara began pulling them out.

"This one."

She tossed a dress onto the bed.

"Too bright."

Another.

"Too expensive."

Another.

"Too ugly."

Seraphine almost smiled.

"You said that one was your favourite."

"I lied."

"You always lie about clothes."

"I lie about many things. Clothing is simply where I exercise my talent."

Seraphine sat on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Mara held up a dark green gown.

"This."

Seraphine looked at it.

"It belonged to your grandmother."

"I know."

"She wore it when she went to the capital for the Autumn Court."

Seraphine's expression hardened.

"I don't want it."

Mara lowered the dress.

"Why?"

"Because it feels like they're dressing me in the family before they send me away."

Mara studied her.

Then carefully folded the gown and placed it back.

"Then we won't take it."

Seraphine looked at her.

"We?"

Mara smiled.

"You didn't think I was letting you go to the Imperial Court alone, did you?"

Seraphine blinked.

"Mara."

"I've already told the housekeeper I'm accompanying you."

"You did what?"

"She said no."

"And?"

"I told her I'd inform your father that she had called his daughter difficult."

Seraphine stared at her.

Mara shrugged.

"She changed her mind."

A laugh escaped Seraphine before she could stop it.

It was small.

Barely there.

But it was real.

Mara smiled.

"There she is."

Seraphine's smile faded.

"What if I don't come back?"

Mara stopped.

The question hung between them.

Outside, somewhere below, servants hurried through the halls.

Doors opened.

Voices rose.

The house was already preparing to send her away.

Mara walked over and sat beside her.

"Then we make sure you have somewhere to come back to."

Seraphine looked down at her hands.

"You don't understand."

"I probably don't."

"They're sending me to the capital to be chosen by a man I've never met."

"I understand that part."

"They're going to parade me in front of powerful men."

"I understand that too."

"And if this Cassian Ardent chooses me—"

She stopped.

She couldn't finish the sentence.

Mara's voice softened.

"Then you make sure he knows exactly what he's choosing."

Seraphine looked at her.

Mara held her gaze.

"Not some obedient little Vale girl."

A pause.

"You."

Something tightened in Seraphine's chest.

She looked away.

"I don't know if that's enough."

"It has to be."

"Why?"

"Because you don't have anything else."

The words should have hurt.

Instead, somehow, they steadied her.

Seraphine stood.

"Then let's pack."

Mara smiled.

"Finally."

They spent the next hour deciding what could be taken and what had to be left behind.

Three gowns.

Two pairs of riding boots.

A winter cloak.

Books.

Hairpins.

A small silver comb her grandmother had given her.

A knife.

Mara raised an eyebrow when she saw that last one.

"No."

Seraphine took it from her.

"Yes."

"You are not bringing a knife to the Imperial Court."

"Why?"

"Because they'll search the luggage."

"Then I'll hide it."

"Seraphine."

"Mara."

They stared at each other.

Mara sighed.

"Fine."

The knife disappeared into the lining of Seraphine's travelling case.

By afternoon, her room looked strangely bare.

The shelves had empty spaces.

The wardrobe no longer felt crowded.

Even the little vase on her desk had been wrapped in cloth.

Seraphine stood by the window.

The gardens stretched beyond the glass.

She had spent years walking those paths.

There was the old oak where she used to hide during lessons.

The fountain where she had once fallen into the water at eight years old.

The stone bench beneath the roses where Mara had found her crying for the first time.

Memories.

Too many of them.

She wondered how many she was allowed to take with her.

A soft knock came.

Mara entered.

"Your father wants to see you."

Seraphine's stomach tightened.

"Now?"

"Now."

She followed Mara downstairs.

Her father's study was at the far end of the western corridor.

The door stood open.

Marquis Alaric Vale was standing beside his desk.

A large map of the Empire covered the table.

Seraphine recognized the capital immediately.

The Imperial City sat at the centre of the map, surrounded by seven provinces.

Seven great territories.

Seven ancient houses.

And at the centre of them all—

The Imperial Palace.

Her father placed a finger on the map.

"You will leave at dawn."

Seraphine nodded.

"How long will we stay?"

"Until the Convocation ends."

"And if I am chosen?"

His expression did not change.

"You will remain in the capital."

Seraphine swallowed.

"With him?"

"Eventually."

The word made her stomach twist.

She looked at the map.

"Tell me about him."

Her father was silent.

"Cassian Ardent."

His jaw tightened.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then he walked toward the window.

"He was born into House Ardent."

"I know that."

"His father was Lord Commander of the Northern Legions."

Seraphine waited.

"He died when Cassian was nineteen."

"How?"

Her father didn't answer immediately.

"War."

The word was simple.

The silence afterward wasn't.

"What happened to Cassian?"

"He took his father's position."

"At nineteen?"

"No."

Her father turned toward her.

"At twenty-one."

Seraphine frowned.

"That's still young."

"He had already commanded three campaigns."

She stared at him.

"Three?"

"Three."

"And he won?"

"Yes."

Something about the answer unsettled her.

Not because she was impressed.

Because her father sounded impressed.

Her father rarely admired anyone.

"He is powerful," Alaric continued. "The Emperor trusts him. The military follows him. The Great Houses respect him."

"Respect?"

Her father looked at her.

"Fear."

Seraphine's fingers curled.

"Is he cruel?"

"I don't know."

The answer surprised her.

"You don't know?"

"I know what he has done."

"That's not what I asked."

"No."

Her father looked toward the darkening window.

"I don't know what kind of man he is."

For the first time, Seraphine saw something in her father's expression that she had never seen before.

Uncertainty.

It disappeared almost immediately.

"You will remember your position when you reach the capital."

Seraphine's gaze hardened.

"My position?"

"You are an Omega of House Vale."

"I know."

"You will behave accordingly."

She laughed quietly.

"There it is."

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The part where you remind me that I'm property."

His face hardened.

"You will not embarrass this family."

"I have spent nineteen years trying not to."

"You will do as you are instructed."

Seraphine looked at the map.

At the Imperial City.

At the seven provinces surrounding it.

Then she looked back at him.

"And if I refuse?"

Her father said nothing.

Seraphine waited.

Finally, he answered.

"Then you will learn what it means to stand against an Empire."

She held his gaze.

"I've been standing against this house my entire life."

For once, her father had no answer.

Seraphine turned and walked out.

She didn't look back.

That night, she could not sleep.

The house was silent.

Her luggage stood beside the door.

Her travelling cloak hung from a chair.

Everything she needed for the next part of her life had been reduced to a handful of possessions.

She sat beside the window.

The moon was visible through the clouds.

For some reason, she thought of the name again.

Cassian Ardent.

She had never seen his face.

Never heard his voice.

Yet everyone spoke of him as though he were already standing somewhere nearby.

Waiting.

Seraphine touched the cold glass.

"I won't let you choose me."

The words disappeared into the night.

She turned away from the window.

Then stopped.

Something moved outside.

At first, she thought it was a shadow.

Then she saw it.

A faint silver glow beneath the old oak tree.

Seraphine frowned.

She opened the window.

Cold air rushed into the room.

The glow vanished.

She stared into the darkness.

Nothing.

Only the garden.

Only the trees.

Only moonlight.

She almost closed the window.

Then she heard it.

A whisper.

Not from outside.

From somewhere beneath her.

A voice so faint she could barely hear it.

Seraphine.

She froze.

Her breath caught.

The room suddenly felt colder.

She stepped away from the window.

The whisper came again.

Seraphine.

Her eyes moved toward the floor.

Something beneath the House of Vale had awakened.

And whatever it was—

It knew her name.