Chapter 2: The Chains That Remain

The carriage rattled along the stone-paved roads, the weight of silence thick between them. Seraphina sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap, her mind a storm of defiance and uncertainty.

Across from her, Duke Adrian Valemont reclined against the plush velvet seat, his expression unreadable. The candlelit glow of the carriage lamps cast flickering shadows over his sharp features, making him look more like a phantom than a man.

Seraphina's wrists still burned from where the chains had been, but the real shackles—the ones binding her to this marriage—were far less visible and infinitely more constricting.

"Are you always this silent, My Lady?" Adrian's voice was smooth, laced with something akin to amusement.

She met his gaze, unflinching. "What would you have me say, Your Grace? Shall I thank you for dragging me from my ruined home? Or perhaps I should inquire about the details of my captivity—will I be locked in a tower, or shall I have the luxury of pretending to be your wife in public?"

His lips twitched, as though her words entertained him. "You are not my prisoner, Seraphina."

A scoff escaped her before she could stop it. "No? Then why was I taken from my home in chains?"

"Because you would have fled if given the chance."

He was right, of course. She had planned to escape the moment she heard of her forced betrothal. But hearing him say it so plainly only fueled her fury.

She leaned forward, narrowing her gaze. "And why, Your Grace, do you want a wife who despises you?"

Adrian studied her for a long moment, then reached inside his coat, withdrawing a folded parchment. He tossed it onto the seat between them.

Seraphina hesitated, then picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly as she unfolded the document.

Her breath caught.

Her father's signature was scrawled across the bottom—a contract pledging her hand in marriage to Duke Adrian Valemont, in exchange for the King's mercy.

Seraphina clenched her jaw. "So that's it? A political arrangement? A means to control what little remains of House Evernight?"

Adrian leaned forward slightly, his silver eyes dark and unreadable. "A marriage is a contract, My Lady. But you mistake me if you think this is only about power."

"Then what is it about?"

A flicker of something crossed his face, gone before she could name it. "That," he said quietly, "is something you will learn in time."

Seraphina swallowed the sharp retort that burned on her tongue. She had thought she was merely a pawn, a bargaining chip. But there was something more at play—something she could not yet see.

She folded the parchment carefully, setting it aside. Then she straightened, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance.

"Very well, Your Grace," she murmured. "If I must be your wife, then I will be the best wife the kingdom has ever seen."

Adrian arched a brow. "How noble of you."

She tilted her head, her smile as sharp as a blade. "Oh, it is not nobility, Your Grace. It is war."

Adrian's lips parted slightly, as if taken aback by her words. Then, to her surprise, he let out a low chuckle.

"Then let us see, My Lady," he murmured, "who will win this war."

The carriage jolted as they neared the towering gates of Valemont Manor—their battlefield.

And thus, the war of their marriage had begun.