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I became quiet, withdrawn.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.