Chapter 2. The Man behind the Name
1482 Words
The staircase had never seemed so long.
Seraphine could hear the voices before she could see the people—low, measured voices, mostly men, with her father's among them.
She slowed as she reached the final turn.
The House of Vale had been built to impress. Everything about it seemed designed for that purpose: the sweeping marble staircase, the enormous chandelier suspended three stories above, and the portraits of dead Vales staring down from gilded frames with the same cold superiority.
Seraphine had grown up beneath those eyes.
She had always hated the portraits. They made the house feel as though it were watching her.
Today, however, she barely noticed them.
Her attention was fixed on the entrance hall.
Three imperial carriages stood beyond the tall glass doors. Their horses were black, their harnesses silver, and on each carriage door was the same symbol—a crown surrounded by seven stars.
Imperial.
Seraphine stopped.
Six soldiers stood in the entrance hall. They were not household guards but imperial soldiers, their dark armour swallowing the morning light and narrow silver bands encircling their throats—the mark of the Emperor's personal guard.
Her stomach tightened.
People did not send the Emperor's soldiers to a noble house for a polite visit.
She looked toward the drawing room.
The doors stood open. Her father was inside, speaking to an unfamiliar man dressed in the formal black coat of the Imperial Council.
His expression was pleasant.
Too pleasant.
Seraphine knew that expression. People wore it when they had already decided something and were merely waiting for you to discover that you had no say in it.
Her father's eyes found hers.
For one second, his face changed.
Not surprise.
Annoyance.
Then it disappeared.
"Seraphine."
She entered the room.
The conversation stopped.
Four men turned toward her.
Her mother was there too, seated beside the fireplace.
Lady Elara Vale looked beautiful, as she always did. Her silver-blonde hair was pinned perfectly, and her midnight-coloured dress was fastened at the throat with a necklace of diamonds.
She studied Seraphine for a moment before glancing at the white dress.
A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows.
"You took too long."
Seraphine ignored the comment and looked at her father.
"You sent for me."
"I did."
"Why?"
Her father glanced at the imperial councillor.
The man smiled.
"Perhaps we should introduce ourselves first."
Seraphine looked at him.
He bowed.
"Lord Evander Thorne. Imperial Secretary to His Majesty."
She curtsied.
"Lord Thorne."
His eyes travelled over her—not openly, but with the careful politeness of someone accustomed to assessing people without appearing to do so.
"Lady Seraphine. It is a pleasure."
"I doubt that."
Her mother inhaled sharply.
Her father stared at her.
Lord Thorne, however, laughed softly.
"You're exactly as described."
Her smile vanished.
"Described by whom?"
Another silence.
Lord Thorne's smile remained.
"Your reputation precedes you."
"I didn't know I had one."
"Oh, everyone does."
Her father interrupted.
"Enough."
Seraphine looked at him.
He gestured toward the chair opposite the fireplace.
"Sit."
There it was again—that tone, that expectation that she would obey simply because he had spoken.
For most of her life, she had.
Today, she remained standing.
"I would rather know why I'm here."
His jaw tightened.
"Seraphine."
"I heard the bells."
Something changed in the room.
Lord Thorne's expression became serious. Her mother lowered her eyes, and Seraphine felt the shift immediately.
"What happened?"
Lord Thorne answered.
"The Emperor has issued a decree."
Seraphine's heartbeat quickened.
"What kind of decree?"
He reached inside his coat and withdrew a folded piece of parchment sealed with black wax. Seven stars were pressed into it.
Seraphine stared at the seal.
She had seen it only once before, on the death warrant of a duke who had tried to challenge the Imperial Council.
Her fingers felt cold.
"What kind of decree?"
Lord Thorne broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty, all eligible Alpha and Omega heirs of the Great Houses are to be presented before the Imperial Court during the Winter Convocation."
Seraphine frowned.
The Convocation was a formal gathering, nothing more.
Then Lord Thorne continued.
"The purpose of the Convocation shall be the formal arrangement of alliances between the Great Houses, in accordance with the stability and continued prosperity of the Empire."
Her mother's hand tightened around the armrest.
Seraphine looked at her.
Then at her father.
"No."
Her father said nothing.
She shook her head.
"No."
This time her voice was louder.
"You will attend the Convocation."
Seraphine stared at him.
"That isn't what he said."
Her father's expression hardened.
"You heard what he said."
"The Convocation is a court gathering."
"Yes."
"I'm not going."
"You are."
She gave a small, humourless laugh.
"You cannot be serious."
"I am your father."
"That doesn't answer me."
His eyes sharpened.
"You will attend the Imperial Court."
Seraphine looked around the room.
At her mother.
At Lord Thorne.
At the soldiers beyond the doors.
At the sealed decree resting on the table.
It was happening.
Something she had spent years fearing without ever knowing its name.
She swallowed.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do there?"
Her father did not answer.
She already knew.
Her voice became quieter.
"Choose a husband?"
Her mother finally spoke.
"Seraphine."
"Is that what this is?"
"Lower your voice."
"Is that what this is?"
Her father's silence answered for him.
Something inside her cracked.
Not loudly, not dramatically. Just a small fracture in the place where hope had been living.
She looked down at her white dress.
Suddenly, she understood why it had been chosen, why everyone had been so quiet, why imperial soldiers stood outside.
She wasn't being dressed for breakfast.
She was being presented.
Like a jewel.
Like property.
Like something that could be placed into another man's hands and called an alliance.
Her throat burned.
"I won't."
Her father stood.
"You don't have a choice."
"I always have a choice."
"No."
His voice was calm.
That was worse than shouting.
"Not anymore."
Seraphine looked at him.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Lord Thorne cleared his throat.
"There is one additional matter."
Her father turned toward him.
Lord Thorne's gaze settled on Seraphine.
"His Majesty has already made certain recommendations regarding the eligible candidates."
Seraphine felt suddenly sick.
"Recommendations?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
Lord Thorne hesitated.
Her father looked away.
That frightened her more than anything else.
"Who?"
Lord Thorne folded the decree.
"The first is Lord Cassian Ardent."
The room fell silent.
Seraphine searched their faces.
"Who?"
Lord Thorne seemed genuinely surprised.
"You don't know?"
"No."
Her father walked toward the window.
"Of course she doesn't."
Seraphine ignored him and looked at Lord Thorne.
"Who is Cassian Ardent?"
The councillor studied her for a moment before answering.
"That depends on whom you ask."
Seraphine frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Lord Thorne's expression lost its amusement.
"To some, he is the Emperor's most trusted commander."
A pause.
"To others, he is the reason the Emperor still has an empire."
Seraphine said nothing.
"He is the youngest man ever appointed to the Imperial War Council."
Her mother whispered, almost to herself,
"Twenty-seven."
Seraphine looked at her.
Her mother rarely showed emotion.
But there was something in her voice.
Fear.
Real fear.
Seraphine's pulse quickened.
"Why are you all afraid of him?"
No one answered.
Finally, Lord Thorne said quietly,
"Because Lord Ardent does not lose."
Seraphine waited.
"And because he does not need to raise his voice to make people obey."
A strange chill moved down her spine.
She hated him already.
She had never met him. She didn't know what he looked like, how he spoke, or whether he was cruel or kind. Yet somehow, his name had entered the room and changed its temperature.
Cassian Ardent.
She repeated it silently.
The name felt unfamiliar on her tongue.
Dangerous.
Lord Thorne folded the decree and placed it on the table.
"His Lordship is expected in the capital within the week."
Seraphine looked toward the windows.
Beyond them, the Imperial Palace stood beneath the pale morning sky.
Seven towers.
Seven crowns.
Seven secrets.
And somewhere beyond those walls was a man whose name had just been placed beside hers.
She had spent nineteen years learning how to survive the House of Vale. Now they were sending her into a world she knew nothing about—a world ruled by an Emperor, by magic, by blood, and apparently by a man named Cassian Ardent.
Seraphine looked at her father.
"Then I suppose I should meet him."
Her father stared at her.
"No."
She frowned.
"No?"
"You misunderstand."
He walked toward her slowly.
"You are not going to the palace to meet Cassian Ardent."
His eyes held hers.
"You are going there to be chosen by him."
For the first time that morning, Seraphine forgot how to breathe.
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