Seraphina’s POV

The scent of incense and fresh flowers filled the hall where my father’s funeral was being held, and I watched as people poured in, wearing their black garments and looking dejected and solemn.

As much as I wanted to disappear and be as far away from this place as possible, I couldn’t leave. Tradition dictated that as the chief mourner, I had to stand at the entrance and greet the guests, thanking them for coming to pay their respects to my father.

It was exhausting.

One by one, nobles, military officials, and government figures approached me with polite condolences. Some were stiff and formal, offering empty words because it was expected of them. Others were genuinely somber, and the sincerity in their tones was like a reflection of the respect my father had earned in his years as the Major General of Aldoria.

“Seraphina,” one of the older generals said, his voice rough. “Your father was a great man, and his loss will be deeply felt.”

“Thank you, General Roux,” I responded, bowing my head slightly in respect.

And so it continued.

I repeated the same words, the same gestures, over and over, my voice growing hoarse from the constant stream of condolences. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful—I knew they meant well, but grief was a strange thing.

It made every well-intentioned word feel like an intrusion, almost like they were reminding me that I was supposed to be mourning in a way that people could see.

I had spent the past few hours trying to force myself to cry for my father, to feel dejected, and feel like I had lost the most important person in the world, but standing here, greeting people with a numb politeness, I felt as empty as ever.

The presence of the royal family in the room made the atmosphere even more uncomfortable for me. My father had been the king’s right-hand man, so it was expected that King Orion himself would attend.

The moment he entered, the room fell into a respectful silence, and every person in the room instinctively straightened as he made his way toward me.

Walking beside him was his son, Prince Darius.

I had met Prince Darius a handful of times before, even though we had never spoken much, if at all. My introverted self could never talk to a boy, even though he was only a few years older than me, and my father had always tried to get me to talk to him for whatever reason.

When the king and his son reached me, I immediately bowed deeply, as was customary.

“Your Majesty,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“Seraphina,” King Orion greeted, his deep voice softer than I expected.

When I lifted my gaze, I found him regarding me with something close to sympathy. It was a rare expression for a man like him, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“My deepest condolences,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost personal.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied, bowing my head again.

The king was silent for a moment, his gaze studying me before he finally spoke again. “After the funeral, I would like to speak with you. I’ll have someone bring you to the palace if you don’t mind.”

That caught me off guard.

I blinked, meeting his eyes, searching for any indication of what this might be about, but the king’s expression was unreadable.

“Yes, of course,” I answered, my voice steady despite my confusion.

He nodded once before moving past me, heading toward the front of the hall where the main ceremony would take place.

Prince Darius remained for a moment longer, his expression unreadable as his gaze flickered over me.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Seraphina,” he said, his voice quiet.

I met his gaze, unsure how to respond. There was something in his eyes—something that made me feel like he was measuring me, and it made me feel extremely uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I said finally.

He gave a slight nod, then turned and followed his father, while I stood there for a moment longer, staring after them, my mind racing with questions.

Why did the king want to speak to me? What business would someone like me have with the king?

Whatever it was, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be something I expected.

The ceremony had finally begun.

After standing for what felt like an eternity at the entrance, greeting every single guest with gratitude, I was finally able to take my seat as the chief mourner.

The hall was silent except for the melody of the Aldorian song for late generals.

I sat motionless, my hands resting in my lap, my eyes fixated on the coffin in front of me. My father’s body was lying inside, dressed in the finest Aldorian military fabric, alongside all his medals.

It was surreal.

I knew I was supposed to feel something—grief, sorrow, devastation—but instead, I felt… nothing besides a deep emptiness that filled my chest as I watched the proceedings.

And then there was her.

Gianna.

My father’s greatest mistake and embarrassment.

Seated just a few places from me, my so-called stepmother was putting on the performance of a lifetime. She sobbed loudly, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, her body shaking with exaggerated grief. The sheer dramatics of it made my stomach turn.

I stole a glance at the rest of the room, surprised that no one was paying her any attention. Not the officials, not the nobles, not even the generals who I was sure were aware of the fact that she was my father’s wife.

It was as though they had collectively decided that the moment my father drew his last breath, Gianna ceased to exist in his legacy because no one referred to her as his wife anymore.

Instead, she was simply Koran Hook’s sister-in-law and was treated like she was a stain on his otherwise disciplined and respectable life.

If she had any self-awareness, she would have been embarrassed. She should have realized that no one cared for her fake tears, that no one was willing to grant her the status she had once stolen for herself, but knowing Gianna, she was probably just pretending like she didn’t notice, forcing herself deeper into her pitiful act.

For someone who thrived on attention, this must have been hell for her, and I almost smirked at the thought.

Serves you right, you insufferable hag.

I sighed, shifting my gaze back to my father’s coffin, and the longer I stared, the less real it felt.

I could tell that everyone else was expecting me to act as dejected as Gianna, but I couldn’t bring myself to cry or act like I was devastated.

Maybe I really did hate that man more than I realized, or maybe, at some point, without realizing it, I had already mourned him long before he died.

Either way, as the ceremony continued, I kept my expression blank, my hands tightening into fists under the fabric of my dress.

I had endured all of this so far, so I could certainly endure for the next hour or so, and then, when it was over, I would finally find out why the king wanted to speak to me, which was a thought that hasn’t stopped bothering me.

***

By the time the funeral had finally ended, I felt drained. Not in the way that grief drains a person—no, that kind of sorrow hadn’t even touched me yet.

This was a different kind of exhaustion, the one that came from standing for hours, accepting condolences, nodding, bowing, and thanking people, both the people who knew my father and the ones who barely knew him but felt compelled to show face for the sake of appearances.

Even after the ceremony, my duties hadn’t ended. I had spent another hour ensuring that everything was properly handled. I instructed the funeral house on how and where my father should be buried, making sure they followed Aldorian tradition to the letter.

I had no sentimental attachment to the rituals, but I knew my father would have expected me to ensure that his burial was done right. It was one of the last things I could do for him.

When I finally stepped outside, a black car was parked in front of the funeral house, and as soon as I stepped toward it, the driver approached me and gave a small bow.

“Lady Seraphina,” he said formally, “His Majesty has sent me to escort you to the palace.”

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard before remembering that I was meeting the king. It had skipped my mind for a second after the exhausting day I’ve had.

I was about to step into the car when a voice called out behind me.

“Seraphina!”

I groaned internally even before turning around. Of course.

Gianna was rushing toward me, her black funeral dress moving dramatically as she moved, and her face was set in that familiar expression of irritation that she reserved exclusively for me. I was already bracing myself for whatever nonsense she was about to spew.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

I folded my arms across my chest, narrowing my eyes at her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Gianna’s lips thinned, but she wasn’t about to back down. “It is my business. Now that your father is gone, I am your legal guardian.”

She straightened her posture, tilting her chin up like she actually believed she had some sort of authority over me. “I have every right to know where you’re going.”

I let out a slow, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “If you must know, I’m going to the palace to meet with King Orion.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a split second, I could see the flicker of jealousy, confusion, and irritation in her eyes before she masked it. “And why, exactly, would the king want to speak with you?”

“That’s between me and the king,” I replied flatly, already turning away from her. “Not you.”

I could hear her huffing behind me, her mouth opening to argue further, but I was done entertaining her. Without another word, I climbed into the car and slammed the door shut before she could even finish her next sentence.

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