...Oliver had experienced fear in many forms. He had known the bite of the whip, losing body parts to experiments, the searing pain of chains cutting into his wrists, and the terror of standing before the staff of Solomon, an unfathomable power.
He had defied his masters once, summoning the courage to reach for freedom in his past life.
But this fear was different.
The moment he saw her through the veil of the carriage window, his knees buckled.
His body collapsed before he could think, his legs giving out beneath him as his hands shot up to his head, fingers clawing at his scalp as memories came crashing down. The suffocating tide of his past life drowned him all at once.
She was the beacon reminder of...Pain—The constant taste of his own blood. She was a woman who stood among corpses, licking the blood off her fingers like a delicacy.
Lady Seraphina Damaris Vontell.
A terrible noblewoman of the Somaran Empire. The twentieth wife of Richie Von Rich. His step mother, and the woman who had ushered living hell into his life.
Oliver gasped as phantom screams filled his ears. The faces of innocent children twisted in horror as she slaughtered them for sport. She had made him watch. Forced him to kneel in their blood, whispering words of false kindness, telling him he should be grateful she even allowed him to exist.
Cold sweat ran down his spine. His breathing turned ragged as his fingers dug deeper into his scalp, trying to pull himself out of the memories, out of the past, but it was too real. The pressure in his chest swelled, suffocating him.
He was weak.
His gaze drifted down to his trembling palms. Weak. No matter how much he thought he had changed because of one challenge against his masters, he was still the same powerless slave before her. He needed to run. He needed to escape. Now.
The nurse beside him, noticing his state, reached out to steady him. "Young prince, are you—"
Oliver swatted her hand away violently, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Without another word, he stumbled to his feet and bolted for the door, his body acting on pure instinct.
As he disappeared down the corridor, a pair of violet eyes flickered toward the window he had just been standing at. Behind the thin veil covering her face, Seraphina's lips curled in a faint, knowing smile.
A young man beside her, dressed in deep midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver—a clear mark of imperial nobility—stepped closer. His sharp features held a regal air, but his expression betrayed mild curiosity.
He was Viscount Cedric Elmann, one of the rising nobles under Seraphina's father's rule.
"Something wrong, Lady Seraphina?" he asked in a low voice.
She tilted her head slightly but did not answer immediately. Instead, she stepped down from the carriage, her movements effortless, as if she glided rather than walked. Her purple veil fluttered slightly in the evening breeze.
"No issue," she said finally, her voice as smooth as silk. "Let's get this over with. I have no desire to linger. I must return to the empire before the Princess's Trade Fair begins. I hear some interesting stock might be arriving, and I so intend to update my father's 'farm'." She gave a knowing slightly sadistic smirk.
Another man approached from the side—this one older, his head bald and his robes adorned with the golden insignia of a higher-ranking noble. Viscount Hadrian Voss.
He bowed deeply. "All preparations are in place, my lady. Even the king of this kingdom has been... taken care of."
Seraphina gave a slight nod, not even sparing him a glance.
Cedric frowned, shifting his weight slightly. His eyes met Hadrian's for the briefest of moments, and in that silence, a quiet war was being fought. Both men sought her favor.
Seraphina, ever indifferent, ignored them both and walked forward toward the grand ballroom where the wedding was being held.
---
The ballroom was filled with nobles, the air was thick with the murmur of quiet conversations.
Seraphina's entourage stood out instantly.
Draped in midnight blue and silver, her guards and attendants moved with an almost quiet precision, their very presence exuding an aura of imperial dominance.
Each of them bore a serpent insignia embroidered on their sleeves—a symbol of the Somaran Empire's grip over the dungeon trade. The empire had long monopolized dungeon resources, harvesting aether in ways no other nation could, granting them an overwhelming advantage in both magic and military power.
Among the gathered nobles, whispered discussions filled the air:
"Once this marriage is sealed, our kingdom will finally have a proper alliance with the Somaran empire."
"Hah. Alliance? Don't be naive. This is conquest in everything but name."
"Tch. I wouldn't mind if it meant my family could secure finer bloodlines from the Somaran Empire. We all know hiw powerfulthey are..."
Their hushed voices did not escape the notice of Seraphina's two attendants. Hadrian and Cedric exchanged a glance before turning their gazes on the murmuring nobles, their expressions filled with something that was neither amusement nor malice—just detached condescension.
These people were sheep. Oblivious to the slaughter they were walking into.
Then, a figure stepped forward, blocking Seraphina's path.
A woman with a fan in her hand, her posture was elegant but one exuding arrogance.
Sansa Von Rich.
If Oliver had been present, he would have recognized her instantly as Leston's mother—one of the elder wives of Richie Von Rich and a woman with a notoriously proud and venomous personality.
She flicked her fan open with a practiced movement, eyeing Seraphina with an imperious smirk. "The Somaran Empire's lady is welcome in our house," she said smoothly, "but here, you are merely the twentieth wife. It is customary for the newest wife to show respect to her seniors."
The room fell into a hushed silence.
Seraphina did not immediately respond. Instead, she turned slightly toward Hadrian. "What is this trash doing in my path?" she asked in a voice loud enough for Sansa to hear.
A ripple of shock ran through the room.
Sansa's smirk faltered. "You—"
The moment their eyes met, a pulse of energy surged through the air.
Seraphina's bright violet irises darkened, a venomous hue flashing within them. It was subtle, but Sansa felt it instantly.
She had always prided herself on her bloodline, believing herself superior to the lesser wives. But right now, she felt like a small snake in the presence of a true predator. Her breath hitched involuntarily.
By the time she regained her composure, Seraphina had already walked past her.
The shame was obvious.
---
At the front of the ballroom, Richie Von Rich stood waiting. A practiced, easy-going smirk played on his lips, but for the briefest second, as Seraphina approached, that smirk wavered.
Then, it was back.
He extended a hand to his newest wife, the seal of the empire gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
The wedding was about to begin. It wasn't so grand, Nevertheless...