Chapter 8 â Seven Years of Silence
The Imperial Castle loomed like a crown of stone over the city, majestic and cruel in equal measure.
When Seraphina first stepped into its polished marble halls, she could still remember the dusty roads of Valeburne under her feet. Back then, she'd only just turned thirteen, wide-eyed and calloused. Now, she stood straighter, older, colder. Seventeen, and already tired of how little warmth gold could buy in a palace built from ambition.
But that dayâthree years agoâfelt like a lifetime away.
Because that was the day Lysandra Valessia became a wife of the Emperor.
Not the Empress.
Never that.
Just one of his chosen concubines, dressed in silks, draped in pearls, and handed over like a well-groomed prize horse at auction.
Her family had wept tears of pride. âAn imperial child will bear the Valessia bloodline!â they said with joy. âOur name will live forever in court.â
Lysandra had smiled for the ceremony. Bowed gracefully. Kissed the Emperorâs hand without flinching.
But Seraphina saw the way her shoulders tensed when no one else was looking. She saw the way Lysandraâs knuckles went white around the edge of her veil.
That smile had never reached her eyes.
---
Their new life began in the castleâthe wing reserved for secondary wives and lesser nobility. Luxurious on the surface. Isolated in truth. They were given three maids, one tutor, and an old physician with no teeth.
Still, Seraphina worked. She polished, memorized names, bowed to courtiers, learned the labyrinthine rules of the palace. Because Lysandra had brought her alongânot as a servant, but as her own.
Her person.
And Seraphina had vowed to never fail her.
Then, by the grace of some distant goddess, Lysandra conceived.
---
It was Aurelia who changed everything.
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Born in spring, the palace trees blooming outside her motherâs window, Aurelia arrived with golden curls and eyes the color of dawn. The Emperor visited once.
Once.
He looked down at the baby for no more than thirty seconds.
âShe has my motherâs eyes,â he murmured. Then turned and left, trailing silk-robed attendants behind him.
That moment aloneâhis faint acknowledgmentâwas enough to shift the winds of the castle.
For a time, Lysandraâs name began to echo softly through the court. âThe favored concubine.â âThe mother of his golden child.â Her family sent lavish gifts. Distant relatives claimed kinship. They no longer wrote to Seraphinaâthey addressed letters to Lady Lysandra of the Imperial Court.
It should have been a rise.
It was the beginning of their downfall.
---
Because Empress Rovanna noticed.
She, whose children had never caught the Emperorâs gaze.
She, who had ruled the palace like a queen both in name and nature, saw in Lysandra something dangerous: the possibility of a child other than hers inheriting the throne.
And Seraphina saw it too.
The sudden silence when she entered rooms.
The way food began to taste faintly wrong. Bitter. Off.
How letters from the Valessia family stopped coming.
How guards stopped saluting Lysandra altogether.
The nobles didnât push her out.
They suffocated her in place.
Little things. Every day. A thousand cuts to the dignity of a once-bright woman.
And yet, Lysandra endured.
She sang lullabies to Aurelia, holding her close in the long, cold nights when no one else came. She walked the gardens with Seraphina, speaking softly of flowers and books. She smiled for her childâs sake, even as the court turned its back.
âWeâll be fine,â she once said. âAs long as Aurelia grows up kind.â
She never once complained.
Even when the Emperor no longer spoke her name.
Even when nobles began whispering of her âambition.â
Even when she grew sick for a week and the royal physician didnât come.
Seraphina brought her warm broth and wiped her brow.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to shake the palace walls with her fists. But all she could do was hold Lysandraâs hand and say, âYou are not alone.â
---
And then, she was.
Because Lysandra died.
One morning, she simply... didnât come to breakfast.
They found her crumpled near the stone staircase of the west wing. Her hair spread like golden threads across the floor, her lips pale, her eyes glassy.
A servant said she had fallen.
A guard muttered about slippery steps.
No one grieved.
No one even looked surprised.
Seraphina did.
She screamed. She grabbed Lysandraâs body and sobbed until her throat bled. She shook her, begged her to wake up. She tore through the castle halls demanding justice.
And the court?
The court called her hysterical.
The Emperor never visited.
The Valessia family sent no reply when she wrote. Not even a single line.
And Aurelia... only seven... had to be told by her maid that her mother wouldnât return.
Seraphina held her through the night. Rocked her. Promised her.
âYou are not alone.â
---
She tried to fight.
She brought the matter to the court.
A maid, standing before ministers and scribes in golden robes.
They laughed her out.
âLysandraâs own family did not question the report,â they said. âWhy should a servant?â
The message was clear:
Lysandra was already buriedâin silence, in shame, in forgetfulness.
The palace had moved on.
But Seraphina hadnât.
She stood outside the court chambers for hours, her fists clenched, her eyes burning.
And then she walked to Aureliaâs chambers and knelt beside her bed.
The little girl had her motherâs eyes.
Still confused. Still too young to understand how cruel the world could be.
Seraphina kissed her forehead.
âI wonât lose you too.â
---
From that day, she became more than a maid.
She became Aureliaâs guardian.
Her protector. Her mother in everything but blood.
She taught her how to lace up shoes, how to write her name, how to fake a smile in front of nobles who saw her as a threat. She brushed her hair in silence when she cried for her mother. She stayed awake for days when Aurelia fell ill with fever.
She lied and said her mother watched over her from the stars.
She pretended Lysandraâs name still carried weight in the castle.
She did whatever she had to do.
Because Seraphina had lost too much.
She had lost her family.
Then Lysandra.
She would not lose Aurelia.
Not to poison. Not to Empress Rovanna. Not to ambition. Not to the same cold silence that swallowed Lysandra.
Even if she had to die a thousand times.
Even if she had to burn everything down.
She would protect her.
To the very end.