A heavy boot ground harder still against my spine, driving air from my lungs.
I choked face‑down in damp earth; fingers scrabbled uselessly at soil and grass while another strike hammered across my ribs — hard enough to send black haze swirling over my sight.
Pain bloomed everywhere at once.
The masked men never spoke. In some terrible way, that silence made it far worse. No rage. No hesitation. No feeling at all — only cold, mechanical violence.
I could hear nothing but my own breath: broken, ragged, tearing in and out while blood dripped slow and thick from my mouth down into the grass beneath me.
Matilda crouched elegantly just beyond reach — perfectly composed amid ruin. Her gown remained spotless. Her expression calm and measured… as if this were only quiet conversation rather than slow execution.
"You know what the saddest part is?" she asked softly.
Strong hands wrenched my head backward by the hair — sharp, brutal jerk. I gasped, chest heaving.
Matilda smiled faintly at the sound.
"He would have burned whole kingdoms to ash… for someone he truly loved."
My heart stumbled, weak and erratic.
"But you?" she continued in that same gentle, deadly tone. "I still cannot decide: are you truly special to him… or merely convenient?"
I tried to shape sound in reply — nothing escaped but blood and gasps.
Matilda tilted her head, watching my struggle with idle interest.
"You really do not understand him at all, do you?" she murmured.
Another kick crashed hard into my side. Pure white fire flared through skull and bone. Body folded inward instinctively, shaking uncontrollably.
"Stop—" My voice split and died to nothing.
They did not stop.
A fist slammed against my jaw — ringing vibration filling ears until for one terrifying heartbeat I heard nothing else at all. The garden span wildly; branches and pale sky blurred into one sickening swirl above.
Then suddenly — fingers clamped firm beneath my chin. Matilda forced my face upward… carefully. Almost tenderly.
"Do you know what happened right after that ball?" she whispered.
My eyes fought to lock focus on her features through fog.
"Within two months," she said clearly, "Draven had erased three entire noble houses from existence."
Breath caught faint and sharp in raw throat.
"Not openly — never publicly," she corrected smoothly. "Draven Everfrost does not lose control where eyes can see. That… is exactly what makes him terrifying."
Her thumb brushed slow and deliberate against blood crusted at my lip.
"But then you appeared."
Something darker, uglier than rage flickered deep in her gaze.
"You changed him. Made him soft… made him feel."
Fresh blow drove deep into stomach — I folded forward with a broken cry, pain tearing through chest so fierce vision went dark completely.
Inside my mind, system alerts screamed non‑stop now — flashing useless red over and over:
[CRITICAL DANGER]
[HOSTILE FORCE DETECTED]
[SEVERE PHYSICAL TRAUMA]
Worthless. Every single one.
I could no longer draw breath properly. Hands shook helpless against dirt while they dragged me upright again — hauled high only by fistfuls of hair.
Matilda sighed softly, almost regretful.
"You know… I truly did try patience at first."
Wind stirred faint and cold through rose stems surrounding us — sharp scent of crushed petals mixing heavy with iron.
"But you refused to break. You kept surviving… kept staying right beside him."
Her smile stretched slow and bitter.
"And worst of all? He let you."
My chest tightened until it felt ready to split open.
Draven.
His image flashed unbidden through fading mind: dark hair rumpled from sleep… heavy watchful eyes… that low, dangerous drawl when he warned me not to wander too far alone. Troublesome woman…
Aching swell rose fast in throat — and I realised tears ran mixing freely with blood streaked down cheeks.
Matilda caught sight and laughed soft, delighted sound.
"Oh? Now finally you know fear?"
Next kick landed crushing against ribs — something gave way with sickening crack deep inside. I screamed — raw, torn sound — before hands shoved my face back hard into earth.
The air smelled wet… sweet… and heavy with my own blood. Whole body shuddered now without control; boundaries between blows and pain dissolved — everything hurt, everywhere, all at once.
"Enough." Matilda spoke one word only.
Instant stillness fell. Every movement ceased dead. Silence crashed heavier than violence ever could. Breath shook so hard ribs stung with every effort.
She stepped slow until polished heels rested beside my cheek… then knelt again. Fingers slid back into tangled hair — pulled head upward once more with that same terrifying, feigned affection far worse than blows.
"You ought to hate him," she whispered close.
I stared up, barely seeing.
"Because if Draven Everfrost had simply left you alone from the very beginning…" Her grip tightened sharp. "…none of this agony would ever have touched you."
Breath hitched ragged and broken. Blood dripped slow from chin to stain grass beneath. Masked figures stood ringed around like statues while pain pulsed thick through every limb.
Then — sound changed.
Footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Unhurried.
Heart leaped wildly — desperate hope flaring hot even through wreckage. Father.
Lord Valemont strode into garden space, flanked by his guard. Dark gaze swept fast over sight: blood, still killers… and me crumpled in filth.
"Father—!" Voice cracked uselessly. I dragged myself forward on knees and shaking hands, scraping stone and dirt. Father please— surely you will stop this—
But his face hardened further. No horror there. No rescue. Only pure, cold disappointment.
"You disobeyed me," he said flat — and those words struck deeper and harder than every beating combined.
I froze completely. He looked down as if I were refuse scattered across his grounds.
"I warned clearly what follows if you bring shame upon this house again," he continued without warmth. "You abandoned duty. You defied crown and kingdom. And look at the result now."
Mind reeled, unable to grasp truth.
"N‑no… Father… please—"
"Do not call me that name again."
Dead silence swallowed everything. Even Matilda's expression shifted — brightened, pleased beyond measure.
Father turned fully away from me — final, absolute rejection.
"From this moment forward," he announced clearly for all to hear, "Seraphina Valemont no longer holds place or recognition as daughter of this house."
The world stopped turning. Something fragile deep inside simply snapped and died. Hands clawed helpless at soil.
"Father— NO!"
I dragged myself forward, caught weakly at hem of his heavy cloak — bloodied fingers staining fine fabric. Please… I beg… do not cast me away—!"
He glanced down once at my touch… with open revulsion… then stepped deliberately free. No hesitation. No second thought.
"You chose your own path."
At last his gaze shifted outward — cold permission given freely to Matilda and her killers.
"Do whatever you wish with her."
My blood ran cold as winter stone.
Matilda exhaled soft beside me — sound of burden lifted at last.
"There now… much simpler indeed."
"D‑ad…" Voice barely existed any longer — thin thread of sound only. Please…
He never looked back. Last hope crumbled to dust.
Matilda lowered again before me — false pity painted beautifully across features.
"Oh Seraphina… look what you have become."
Shaking would not cease.
"And all this time… you truly believed someone would finally come to save you."
One masked guard stepped forward — steel drawn. Blade caught pale light, gleaming sharp and final. Heart hammered until it hurt behind ribs; edges of vision blurred away.
No. No no no…
I clutched uselessly at chest… fought for air through crushing panic. Eyes squeezed shut tight. For first time in what felt like forever — I prayed.
"God… please… just this once…"
The sword lifted high… and fell.
Lightning tore the garden apart.
Deafening thunder‑roar split sky and earth together. Blinding silver streak carved downward — shaped like a jagged, monstrous Z — and where it struck… bodies simply came apart.
Instantly. No time to scream. Blood sprayed high over roses and stone. Men collapsed in shattered pieces across path.
Eyes flew wide in terror. Absolute stillness clamped down again — wind dead… every living thing frozen. Father staggered backward, pale and shaken. Matilda's drained completely of colour — all composure gone at last.
Then — footsteps rang out through heavy silence.
One… Two… Three…
Shadows writhed and twisted unnaturally deep among hedges. And voice rolled outward from dark — deep… ice‑cold… vibrating with fury so raw it made every bone rattle.
"…You touched what belongs to me."
Surviving guards panicked instantly — charged blindly toward darkness.
Fatal mistake.
Shadow moved once. Only once. More steel flashed unseen… and the charge dissolved instantly into slaughter. Limbs fell. Blood painted walls. Screams cut short mid‑breath. It was no battle — simply eradication.
Matilda scrambled backward fast… pressed herself shaking behind my father's frame as true terror finally broke through her pride.
Then he stepped fully into light. Black garments. Dark hair. Lower face still hidden behind familiar mask.
Breath died in throat. Draven.
I dragged myself toward him with last strength — relief striking harder and sharper than every injury combined.
"Dra—!"
But he did not move forward. Did not bend. Did not speak comfort. Only stood looking down… at me broken and filthy in dirt.
And somehow… that cold, distant stillness terrified me far more than rage ever could. Air around him felt warped… wrong… past anger entirely into something primal and ruinous.
Father recovered enough to shout — voice cracking with authority already failing:
"RAPHAEL! Know your station, you insolent commoner!"
Dead silence answered him. Draven tilted head slowly… and simply vanished.
Violent gust tore through rose‑branches. Remaining enemies fell before anyone tracked movement — alive one heartbeat… gone to ruin next. Blood streaked every surface.
Father gasped loud… and suddenly Draven stood directly before him. One hand locked iron‑tight around Lord Valemont's throat… lifting him effortlessly clear of ground. Father clawed uselessly at wrist, choking and red‑faced.
"You—!" he wheezed. "I shall have you broken and imprisoned for this treason—!"
Draven laughed low and dark — sound that made even royal guards shrink back in fear.
"Imprison me?" he repeated softly… and grip tightened further.
"You truly are a fool beyond measure."
Father's trembling hand reached instinctively toward heavy signet ring — mark of royal blood — and Draven's expression shifted: wide… cruel smile spreading slow… as if he had waited exactly for that motion all along.
"What boldness…" Father gasped under crushing hold. "How dare a nameless peasant raise hand against royalty?! Do you even realise exactly who I am?!"
Draven stared in long, heavy silence… then spoke each word clear and cutting:
"Eichhorst William Valemont."
Father froze rigid. So did I. No one spoke that full name — never.
Beneath mask, smile widened further.
"Truly… I have never yet met a King quite this stupid."
Realisation dawned slow and terrible in Father's eyes — pure, unmasked fear now. Draven leaned closer until breath touched ear.
"Did it never once cross your mind to wonder…" voice dropped sweet and lethal, "what kind of warrior could slip unseen past every defence… past Draven Everfrost himself… just to lay hands upon his wife?"
Silence stretched thick and suffocating.
Slowly… deliberately… he lifted free hand toward mask‑straps.
My breath caught sharp — No… do not reveal—!
Father stared confused… while black covering loosened… slid… fell completely away.
Silver eyes. Cold. Unnatural. Beautiful and terrifying beyond bearing.
Recognition struck Lord Valemont like physical blow — he nearly ceased breathing entirely. Every soul watching stood frozen in place.
Draven smirked faint and sharp. And finally… broken whisper escaped Father's lips — stripped of rank, stripped of pride:
"…Draven?"