Chapter 4 Duke of Thornvale

Seraphina

I had no idea how I found my way to my father’s study. I was still clad in the tattered gown from the party three nights past, blood clinging to the fabric in faded streaks. My back throbbed, my legs were feeble beneath me, and my breath shallow. Yet the memory of what had happened to me but moments ago clouded my mind so wholly that fear of Father’s fury, fear of what he might do for my escape, for running wild, for stirring unrest, barely touched me. I doubted anyone had truly worried about me.

Anthony walked beside me in silence. When we reached the heavy oak door, he cleared his throat and announced my arrival in a muted tone.

“The young lady is with me now, sir.”

The door creaked open and Father’s burning gaze met mine. His eyes swept downward, and his face twisted in unmasked disgust.

My gown clung to my damp skin. My hair, still drenched from the cold water poured over me in my chambers, hung heavy down my shoulders and back. I must have been a wretched sight—soaked, shivering, with dirt and shame woven into the very threads of my clothing.

“Seraphina, what is this you have on you?” His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and hurtful. I remained rooted at the entrance, my head bowed low, unwilling to meet the hatred in his eyes, alongside the tradition we all have abided by. We don't raise our heads, unless we're asked to. So it's with great privilege that I had my head bowed this time.

The feeling from the garden, from the cliff, from that voice, his voice, slipped from my thoughts and was replaced by the cold, familiar dread of Father’s wrath.

“I… I’m sorry, Fa—”

He silenced me before I could finish. But not with a lash of anger this time. His tone shifted, and I heard something that sounded strangely like reverence.

“I’m so sorry you had to witness her this way, Greyfield.”

I raised my head a little. Greyfield? I had never heard that name before. I knew every elite in England by heart. I had studied tirelessly to recognize each one and pay homage with grace at every ball or gathering we attended or hosted. But Greyfield was not among them.

Curiosity burned within me, but in our household, to gaze upon a guest without permission was unthinkable. It was forbidden unless commanded. So I kept my eyes low.

“Not a sight Grand Lord would love to behold, Silver,” came an aged voice, calm and regal. No one called Father by his given name. Only Mother, and even then, only behind closed doors.

I furrowed my brow, wondering who this Grand Lord was, and what manner of man possessed the authority to address Father by his given name.

After the King and Queen, Father stood next in rank. He was revered, respected—near worshipped.

I willed myself not to fidget, though unease crawled across my skin. But I knew better than most. Both Father and the man who sat beside him were watching me. I had no hope of hiding, nor the courage to lift my head.

I knew Father, and I knew power. Whoever this man was, he stood above what I understood.

“I shall have her cleaned, if you do not mind, treated as well,” Father said.

His voice sounded foreign. Cold, but not cruel. Why would it matter that I be cleaned or tended to after the shame I had brought upon the house? What business was it of anyone’s? Does Father want me to attend some gathering? How could they speak of me so casually, as though I were not even present?

“Having her cleaned and changed into another dress is the only courtesy I can offer you, Silver,” the man, Greyfield, replied. “I must return to Thornvale before dark. I don't have the luxury of delay.”

Thornvale. The name echoed faintly, familiar but unreachable in my mind.

I bit my lip, struggling to grasp why any of this was necessary. Why should I be cleaned or dressed anew for a stranger’s departure?

I knew nothing of Thornvale. Was it a region beneath the Crown? Why did it sound as though I should? I have studied lots of books, must have come across the name. It sounded eerily familiar.

“Fine, then,” Father said, his voice clipped. “Gregory, have her returned to her room. See she is dressed in her finest gown, and have her belongings packed.”

The words struck me like ice. I lifted my head to meet Father’s gaze, eyes wide. His brow furrowed, but he did not look away.

Did I just hear that? having my belongings packed? Why?

“Father…” I swallowed, bracing myself to do what was considered unlawful—to speak while he had not yet finished. But I cared little now. This was no longer something I could pretend to find harmless. Panic clawed at my chest. “Father, what are you saying?” My voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else. But I could not leave without knowing what this meant—why my belongings were to be packed.

“Seraphina, go with Gregory and ask no more questions. We cannot keep Lord Greyfield waiting.”

I narrowed my gaze. I did not know this man. I cared not for his title.

“You need not gather much of her belongings,” Greyfield added. “Grand Lord will have all prepared to his liking.”

“Everything you require, Greyfield,” Father replied. Then he waved Gregory forward.

But I would not move. Not without understanding what was happening.

Gregory came toward me, his hand reaching, but I stepped back. He could carry me if he wished, but I was bruised beneath the skin. Surely he would not dare. Disgraced as I was, I believed I held some dignity still.

“Father, I will not go with him unless I am told why I must be dressed up to accompany this man.”

I gestured faintly toward Greyfield. He appeared to be in his late sixties—perhaps older than Father by a few years. His hair was silver, his eyes a piercing blue. He must have had good looks during his youth. Though dressed simply, the mark of wealth clung to him like a second skin.

On any other day, I would have bowed, offered my hand to be kissed, and addressed him with reverence. But today, I was stripped of that formality.

His lips curved with unexpected patience for a man who had moments ago declared he was in haste to depart.

“Do you not think it wiser, and more efficient, to inform the young lady why she is to travel with me? I will not bear the burden of that task. Let her be told now.”

Father released a heavy sigh before turning back to me, the hatred in his eyes so sharp it made me wonder if my offence went beyond merely being found in a compromising position with my betrothed.

“He said you drugged him… Ferdinand has called off the engagement.”

My stepbrother’s cruel words echoed in my mind. I tried to silence them. But it was Ferdinand’s voice that haunted me more. Before I could fight to cast that thought aside, Father’s voice struck—and stole the breath from my lungs.

“You are no longer part of this family, Seraphina.”

My brow lifted in disbelief. What did he mean? How could I no longer belong to the only family I had ever known?

“Father…?” I breathed, searching his voice for a trace of jest. But there was none.

“You’ve been sold into marriage to the Night Court. You must have heard of him—Grand Lord Lucien Blackwell, Duke and supreme ruler of Thornvale.”