Chapter 1: Serphaine

"Children! Come along now," my mother's voice called from downstairs, sharp yet weary.

I jumped in surprise, fumbling to pull on my worn leather shoes. The sound of footsteps echoed through the tiny cottage, and before I could step into the hall, my younger brother and sister dashed past me, nearly colliding. They clung to my father's hands as he stood in the doorway.

Descending the creaking wooden stairs, I joined my family outside. My mother locked the cottage door with a sigh, then handed me a wicker basket. Linking arms with her, I helped carry the burden as my father and siblings ran ahead, their laughter a rare reprieve.

"Perhaps we'll find a bargain on fresh bread today," my mother said with a hopeful smile.

I nodded, though my mind wandered. Our troubles had grown heavier in recent weeks. My father's work at the factory—meager as it was—had been our lifeline. But now the factory doors were shut, and my mother's sewing alone could not sustain us. Today's market wasn't just a chance for bargains; it was a necessity.

As we neared the bustling square, cobblestone streets stretched out before us, each stone worn smooth by countless footsteps. Stalls lined the road, brimming with goods: fresh produce, bolts of fabric, and the scent of roasted chestnuts carried on the breeze. At the center stood the king's fountain, its sculpted figure towering over the townsfolk below.

"Seraphine?" my mother's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked and met her concerned gaze.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "What did you say?"

"Your father thinks we should get the bread first. What say you?"

"Yes, we should," I replied hastily, then hesitated. "But...I must go elsewhere for a time."

"Go? And where would you go?" my mother asked, frowning.

I faltered, unable to conjure a convincing excuse. I had never been skilled at lying.

"Let her go," my father interjected gently, placing a hand on my mother's arm. "She is young—let her have her small freedoms."

My mother sighed in reluctant agreement. "Be back by five, no later," she warned.

I nodded and hurried away, clutching the flyer in my pocket. Its bold print promised opportunity—if I could prove myself.

The side entrance of Marie's Salon loomed before me, the wooden door worn but sturdy. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside. A woman in a green dress turned to face me, her expression warm but assessing.

"Are you here for the interview?" she asked.

I nodded, feeling small under her gaze. We sat at a table, and she began her questions. Though I answered as best I could, her polite smile faltered with each reply. My lack of experience weighed heavily against me.

The same disheartening pattern repeated at each of the four other interviews I attended that day. By the fifth rejection, the sinking feeling in my chest had turned to despair.

As I left the last shop, the city clock struck half past four. I hurried back toward the main road, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. Rounding a corner, I collided with someone, the impact knocking me to the ground.

"Forgive me!" I exclaimed, brushing dirt from my dress.

The man standing before me extended a hand, his cloak hiding most of his features. "No harm done," he said, his voice rich and kind.

I accepted his hand, and as he helped me to my feet, I caught a glimpse of his face—sharp, regal features and eyes like the ocean.

"What has you in such a hurry, miss, if I may ask?"

"I was...returning to my family," I replied hesitantly. "I had been seeking work."

"And did fortune favor you?"

I shook my head, the weight of the day pressing down on me. Yet, to my surprise, he walked beside me as if we were old acquaintances.

"Do not lose heart," he said after a moment. "Good things often come to those with good intentions."

I managed a small smile. "And how do you know I have good intentions?"

He stopped, turning to face me fully. The street lamps cast a warm glow, their light catching in his striking eyes. "I simply know," he said softly, his gaze unwavering.

Before I could respond, he lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. A shiver ran through me at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Your name, miss?"

"Seraphine," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "Seraphine Hawthorne."

He smiled, a hint of mystery in his expression. "A pleasure, Miss Hawthorne."

The sound of my siblings calling my name broke the spell. Turning, I saw them running toward me, their laughter filling the air. When I looked back, the stranger had vanished, leaving only the memory of his touch and the echo of his voice.

"Who was that man?" my mother asked as she approached with my father.

"A traveler," I lied, the words strange on my tongue. "He was asking for directions."

My father nodded, his arms laden with sacks of bread and potatoes.

"Come," my mother urged. "The hour grows late."

I followed, though my mind remained on the enigmatic man. Who was he? And why did he seem so...familiar?

The next morning, as I stepped outside to collect the day's notices, my heart sank at the sight of another overdue payment. But beneath it lay another envelope, bearing the royal seal of the kingdom.

Breaking the wax, I read the letter once, then twice, scarcely believing the words before me.

"A job offer...for Seraphine Hawthorne."