"You misunderstand, Your Grace," I said softly, as blood continued to seep from my glove. "I'm just afraid of staining your hands."

Alistair's face grew even darker.

"Bring the dancers back in," I told Amy.

The three women re-entered, terrified. One of them spoke meekly. "Your Grace, my father and I used to gather herbs. I could help heal the cut on your hand..."

"That won't be necessary," I cut her off. "Taking care of the Duke is your only priority."

I lifted my chin, motioning for them to approach him. "Help His Grace undress for his bath."

The closest dancer reached out a trembling hand for the buttons of Alistair's shirt.

"Get away from me!" Alistair swatted her hand away. The woman stumbled back.

He turned to me, his eyes burning with rage. "If you insist on this charade, why bother with pale imitations? Why not just bring back the original!"

A sharp pain lanced through my heart.

Then I smiled.

That flawless, perfect smile of a duchess.

"Of course. Anything you desire, Your Grace."

Alistair stared, stunned. He clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily.

He held my gaze for a moment, then spun around and stormed out of the room.

"Father! Father!" Damian shouted, chasing after him from the doorway, but Alistair didn't stop.

His footsteps faded down the hall.

Damian returned, dejected. He was holding a small, ornate pastry box, which he handed to Amy.

"It's the peach mousse Mother used to love," he said, his voice choked with tears. "Mother, why are you pushing him away? You're going to destroy our family!"

I glanced at the box and let out a cold laugh.

Peach mousse. I had loved it once.

Until Liana had an allergic reaction after accidentally eating some.

Alistair had furiously thrown every single ingredient for it out of the kitchen.

"As long as Liana is in this house, Seraphina is not to touch a single thing with peaches in it!" he had roared at the head chef.

And now Damian was bringing it to me, trying to win me over.

"Get out," I said flatly.

"Mother..." Damian looked at me, wounded. "Don't you want this family anymore? The duchy needs you! Father and I know we were wrong! We'll do anything to make it up to you, I'm just begging you, please don't do this to us..."

I ignored him and waved to the guards outside my door.

"Young Lord, it's time to leave. The Duchess needs her rest."

"Mother!" Damian tried to protest, but the guards were already escorting him out, politely but firmly.

The room was quiet again. Amy had led the dancers away.

I was finally alone.

A cough rattled through the room.

I raised my handkerchief to my mouth. It came away stained with blood.

Damian had asked if I still wanted this family.

I could never have it. Not anymore.

I just wanted to die in peace.

If I wasn't so afraid of Alistair starting a rebellion and threatening the stability of the kingdom, I would have stayed in the palace, in the home where I grew up, and waited quietly for the end.

Two days later, a familiar laugh echoed from the courtyard.

I sat by the window and watched Alistair himself help a woman down from a carriage.

Liana was back.

She was as beautiful as ever.

Her chestnut curls shimmered in the sun. Her green eyes were filled with tears.

She leaned against Alistair's chest, looking as helpless and fragile as always.

The memory hit me like a physical blow.

It was a year ago. I was pregnant with our second child. I had returned early from a royal hunt.

I wanted to surprise Alistair. I slipped quietly into our rose garden.

He had built it just for me. Every rose was planted to my liking.

In the center was a white bench, carved with our initials.

But what I saw was Alistair and Liana, kissing on that very bench.

Their clothes were disheveled. I could see the marks of his passion on Liana's neck.

I stormed out, screaming at them, exposing their ugly affair.

The shock sent a sharp pain through my stomach. I felt a warm liquid run down my legs.

The baby... my baby...

"Alistair..." I instinctively reached for his hand, for help.

But he stepped right past me. He rushed to catch Liana, who had "fainted from the shock."

"Get a doctor!" he roared at the servants who came running. "For Liana!"

Blood. So much blood.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I felt life draining away. My child was leaving my body with the blood.

The doctor came too late.

I had hemorrhaged. I had miscarried.

The doctor's final verdict was even crueler: I would never bear another child.

For two weeks, I slept in a haze.

In my waking moments, I heard the maids whispering outside my window.

"The Duke sent Miss Liana away in the middle of the night..."

"Sent her to that beautiful estate in the south. He wouldn't want her to suffer the slightest discomfort."

"Sigh, it was bound to happen. Ten years. Did they think no one knew?"

"Ever since that ball ten years ago, Miss Liana has had him wrapped around her finger. At first, he worried because she was his adopted sister, but then..."

"Then they started sleeping together almost every night the Duchess was away. The whole staff knew. Only Her Grace was kept in the dark."

Ten years.

An entire decade.

I wept until I couldn't breathe, my tears soaking my pillow.

When I was strong enough, I went to a remote corner of the garden and planted a small sapling.

It was the only grave my lost child would ever have.

Then I confronted Alistair.

"I want a divorce," I said. My voice was calm. "And I'm taking Damian with me."

"Mother!" Damian burst in, his face a mask of disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"It's normal for a duke to have a few mistresses," he said. His words were like a knife in my heart. "Aunt Liana has always been good to me. She grew up here, it's normal she wouldn't want to leave! Mother, don't be so dramatic. Your position is not threatened."

I froze.

I couldn't believe those words came from my twelve-year-old son.

"Damian! Do not be rude to your mother!" Alistair pretended to scold him. Then he turned to me. "Seraphina, a divorce is impossible."

My voice trembled. "Damian... you knew. About your father and Liana. You knew all along, didn't you?"

Damian fell silent.

But I already knew everything.

Even my own son had chosen their side.

I fled back to the palace that night.

After that, I was never the cheerful girl I once was.

I became quiet, withdrawn. I would sit in the garden for a whole afternoon in the snow, letting the cold wind chill me to the bone.

Pneumonia.

Then, consumption.

The day the doctor confirmed it, my father held me and wept.

"Seraphina, my poor girl. You've suffered so much."

I only agreed to return when news came that Alistair's madness was threatening the kingdom's stability.

I was going to die soon anyway.

This was the last thing I could do for my father.

Now, the flood of memory receded. I was back in the present.

Liana was standing on the balcony of the "Morningstar Wing." It used to be my chambers.

I had been moved to the desolate North Tower.

She saw me passing below and called out loudly, "It doesn't matter what tantrums you throw, Seraphina. Alistair and I grew up together. He'll always choose me."

She stroked the sapphire necklace at her throat. A deliberate display.

It was supposed to be mine.

It was my wedding gift from Alistair.

A cramp seized my stomach, but my face remained a calm mask.

I ignored her and kept walking.

"Seraphina!" Alistair's voice called from behind me.

I stopped.

He walked up to me, pointing at the paintings and rare books I had packed away in the North Tower.

"Why are you throwing these away?" he demanded, his voice laced with pain. "These are our memories!"

I turned to face him, my eyes empty.

"Your Grace," my voice was pure ice. "Some memories are a burden. Too heavy to bear."

"If you think our memories are a burden," Alistair thundered, "then let's burn them all!"

He spun on the head butler. "Go to the gallery! Drag out every portrait of Seraphina and burn them! I don't want a single one left!"

"Father!" Damian ran toward them, his eyes blazing with anger. "If Mother doesn't care about this family, then neither do I! I'm giving up my inheritance and joining the Expeditionary Force!"

The Expeditionary Force.

That was a place for poor boys to die on some forgotten battlefield.

I had once dreamed he would learn his courtly duties and serve in the royal palace.

Now, I just stared at him coldly.

"Do as you wish."

Damian was stunned into silence. He never expected such indifference.

"Mother..."

"Get out."

Several guards entered and "escorted" me to the North Tower.

It was desolate. Freezing. There was no fire in the hearth.

They even cut back my food.

Every day, just a small piece of bread and a cup of cold water.

The pain in my lungs made me cough constantly, but the tower was too far from the main house for anyone to hear.

Three days later, Damian came.

I fought back the pain, forcing myself to sit upright.

"Mother, why do you look so pale?" he asked with a frown. "You can end this little pity party now. Apologize to Father. I'm sure he'll forgive you."

Pity party?

I snatched a pillow and threw it at him. "Get out!"

"Mother!"

"Get out!"

Terrified by my reaction, Damian fled.

Two more days passed before a frantic knock came at my door.

"Your Grace! It's terrible!" Amy burst in, panicked. "Miss Liana says she's being haunted by a restless spirit! She's called in a wandering seer!"

My heart stopped.

"The seer..." Amy's voice trembled. "She says it's the spirit of the child you miscarried! She says the only way to break the curse is to burn the memorial tree!"

No.

Absolutely not.

I staggered to my feet and ran from the room.

The sharp pain in my lungs made me gasp for air with every step, but I couldn't stop.

That was my child's only memorial.

By the time I reached the garden, Alistair was already there.

The little white oak sapling lay on the ground, its roots still caked with dirt.

"No... you can't..." I stumbled toward it.

"Seraphina," Alistair blocked my path. "Kneel. Beg me to forgive you. And I'll spare the tree."

I stared at him, my eyes bloodshot.

"Beg me, Seraphina," he said, his voice sick with excitement. "Just like you used to. Get on your knees and beg me."

I shook my head, tears blurring my vision.

"Very well," Alistair sneered. He waved his hand. "Throw it in the fire."

"NO—!"

I watched them toss the little tree into the bonfire. I watched the flames consume my child's last memorial.

I scrambled toward the fire.

The heat licked at my skin. My fingers clawed through the embers. I searched until I found it—a charred branch, the name of my child still visible in the wood.

I clutched it to my chest.

And in that moment, I felt a strange sense of release.

I smiled.

As I stood up, I felt a familiar, metallic taste rise in my throat.

A torrent of blood erupted from my mouth. It painted my white gown crimson.

My body collapsed backward like a puppet with its strings cut.

"No... Seraphina, this isn't real." Alistair's pupils shrank to pinpricks.