SERAFELLE: CHAPTER 69

Serafelle had been summoned to the palace gardens against her will, as she had been so many times before.

She was dressed in silk, the shade of a ripe peach, and adorned in jewels so exquisite that their weight felt like chains.

Every pearl and diamond placed on her body came with a tear shed for the life she had lost.

Her brown curls, once a symbol of her free spirit, had been combed so many times that morning that she feared her scalp might bleed.

The head maid, Hildergard, had overseen every detail with brutal efficiency, smacking her hands with a fan whenever Serafelle fidgeted.

"Your Highness, your hands must be of the finest quality if you are to see the Crown Prince," Hildergard said, her tone as sharp as the edges of the fan she wielded.

They dipped her hands in oils scented with roses, the fragrance clinging to her skin like an unshakable curse.