A Bride’s Flight

The letter arrived at dusk, carried by a falcon with silver-etched feathers.

Seraphina Vale had been watching the horizon from her window when she saw the great bird descending, its wings slicing through the amber sky like a blade through silk. It landed on her father's outstretched arm, and she saw the shift in his expression—a flicker of triumph, quickly masked by his usual cold composure.

She knew, even before the words were read aloud, that her fate had just been sealed.

"From His Majesty, King Edric of Eldoria," her father announced, unrolling the parchment with deliberate slowness. "By royal decree, Lady Seraphina Vale is to be wed to His Grace, Duke Alistair Ravensbourne, within the fortnight."

A hush fell over the chamber. Her mother, pale and trembling, pressed a gloved hand to her lips. Her younger sister, Elise, gasped softly, eyes wide with something close to horror.

And Seraphina—

She did not move.

She did not blink.

But deep within her, a storm had begun to rise.

"Father," she said evenly, "you cannot mean to accept this."

Her father barely spared her a glance. "It is the king's will."

"But he is a stranger."

"A powerful one. A noble one." He set the parchment on the polished table. "And now, he is your betrothed."

Seraphina's hands curled into fists at her sides. She had heard the whispers. The Shadow of the North, they called him. A man cursed, his estate a graveyard of lost souls. Some claimed he had been married before, that his wives had all vanished without a trace. Others believed no woman had ever dared to stay long enough to become his bride.

Either way, she would not be the next.

That night, as the halls of Vale Manor quieted and the moon cast silver shadows through her chamber, Seraphina made her decision.

She would run.

---

The stable smelled of fresh hay and damp leather.

Seraphina moved swiftly, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, her breath misting in the cool autumn air. Her mare, Lirien, snorted softly as she saddled her, sensing the urgency in her movements.

Just a little farther. Just a little—

"Going somewhere, my lady?"

The voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

Seraphina froze.

A shadow shifted near the stable doors. Tall, broad-shouldered, and draped in a dark traveling cloak, the figure stepped forward. The dim lantern light flickered over his face, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the silver sheen of his eyes.

Recognition struck her like a blow.

It was him.

Alistair Ravensbourne.

The man she had never met—yet somehow, the man who now owned her fate.

Seraphina forced herself to stand tall. "Step aside."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering it. Then, with infuriating calm, he said, "No."

Her heart pounded. "This is not your home, Your Grace. You have no right to—"

"You are my betrothed." His tone was even, but there was something dark in it, something final. "That gives me every right."

"You mean to keep me as a prisoner, then?"

He sighed, almost as if this conversation bored him. "If you were my prisoner, I would not have let you get this far."

The audacity of him sent heat rushing to her cheeks. "You speak as though you own me."

For the first time, his expression shifted. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—something that almost looked like regret. "No," he murmured. "Not yet."

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

Seraphina took a slow, steadying breath. If reason would not sway him, perhaps defiance would. "You are a coward," she said. "If you were any kind of honorable man, you would not force a woman into marriage against her will."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

Then, before she could react, he stepped forward. In one swift movement, he grasped her wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin, the quiet strength beneath it.

"You think me a coward?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it sent a chill through her all the same. "Very well, Lady Seraphina. I will give you a choice."

She stilled.

"A month," he said. "Stay at Ravenglade Keep for one month. If you still wish to leave after that, I will grant you your freedom."

She narrowed her eyes. "And if I refuse?"

His grip did not tighten, but somehow, she felt trapped all the same.

"Then," he said quietly, "I will simply carry you there myself."

Her breath caught.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. The night wind whispered through the stables, rustling the hay, stirring the loose strands of her hair.

Finally, Seraphina exhaled sharply. "One month," she echoed. "And then I may leave?"

Alistair nodded once.

A deal with the devil, she thought bitterly. But a devil who had, at the very least, given her a choice.

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his grasp. "Very well, Your Grace."

His lips curled slightly at the edges—too subtle to be a smile, yet somehow, it still unsettled her.

"Then let us be on our way."

---

The journey north was long and grueling.

The landscape changed as they traveled, the golden fields of Eldoria giving way to dense forests, then jagged cliffs, then endless stretches of snow-covered land. The farther they rode, the colder it became, until the air itself seemed to hum with something unnatural.

By the time they reached the gates of Ravenglade Keep, Seraphina could feel the weight of the place pressing against her bones.

The keep was vast, its towers reaching toward the storm-heavy sky. Black stone walls loomed over the frozen cliffs, and the great iron gates, adorned with intricate carvings of ravens, groaned open at their approach.

Seraphina swallowed.

Something was wrong here.

She could feel it in the wind, in the way the torches burned blue instead of gold, in the silence that stretched beyond the gates.

And yet, the servants greeted them as if nothing were amiss. They bowed, murmuring their welcomes, their faces polite but unreadable.

Alistair dismounted first, then turned to her. "Come."

Seraphina hesitated. But the weight of their bargain, of the month that now bound her to this place, urged her forward.

She took his offered hand—just for balance, she told herself—and stepped down onto the frozen ground.

The moment her boots touched the earth, a strange sensation washed over her.

A whisper—soft, almost imperceptible—brushed against her ears.

**Welcome home.**

Seraphina's breath hitched. She turned sharply, but there was no one behind her.

Only the gates, creaking shut.

Only the wind, howling through the frozen towers.

And Alistair Ravensbourne, watching her with those piercing silver eyes.

---