Chapter 28: Jealousy

Seraphine’s delicate face morphed into one of humiliation after the prince’s blunt words. She had known Levan has the tendency to be mean and unfiltered with his mouth, but he has never pointed those mean remarks towards her before. He used to be very calm, very unflappable with her, so to see this look in his eyes now made something in her break.

She shrunk back slowly, the bits of her neckline and sleeves dangling enough for her breasts to show. A wave of unease etched on her throat. “…Why are you speaking to me like this?”

“Tell me why I should not,” Levan snapped. He had told himself to be patient but every second he spent surrounded by these people is tiring him to no end, and he do not know why. Usually, he was better than this. “I told you I let you linger out of the courtesy to your father, not to flaunt yourself at me.”

Seraphine was stunned into silence. Her hands remained on her barely covered front as she was flabbergasted at the words he throw at her, obviously hurt at how cold and dismissive they sounded.

“Courtesy to my father?” Her lips quivered, her sapphire eyes darting around in search of answer on his stern face. “Is that what you call this? Levan, you used to—”

“I never used to do anything with you, don’t flatter yourself,” he bristled. “You were tolerated here only because you were once my betrothed, but that bond has long been severed, and with it, any reason for you to linger in this palace.”

Seraphine could not believe her ears. Did she even heard him right? He was saying this as if she was a nuisance in his path. Her throat tightened, pride warring with desperation, but she forced the words out anyway, her voice breaking with venom, “So you’re saying I’m beneath you?”

Something in his eyes flared. “Not beneath,” he said tersely. “Irrelevant.”

Seraphine’s eyes widened. The shock bled into fury, her pride fracturing beneath the weight of his revulsion, making her voice rose unsteadily, shaking with barely leashed indignation. “You do realize my house is the backbone of Noctharis’ military. You cannot so easily dismiss me as irrelevant within this palace. I am the representative.”

Levan tilted his head, his movements slow and controlled, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the storm beneath his composure. It seemed she did not realize she was trying to validate completely different things. He said, “Your house serve the crown because it is required. That is called loyalty to the throne, not to me.”

For a moment, Seraphine could only stare, her lips parting soundlessly as though the weight of his words had struck her across the face. Then, a sharp, brittle laugh broke from her, trembling with both disbelief and desperation.

“All this time, Levan, I stood by you, I waited for you…” Her eyes glistened, her voice cracking as fury laced through it. “Don’t you dare tell me you’ve forgotten what we were to each other. You speak as if nothing between us was ever real!”

Levan did not bother hiding the weary exhale that left him, his eyes closing in exhaustion for a brief second. There it was again, the same tired performance, the same desperate plea as if he owed her some grand reckoning. He glared at her, stripping away even the courtesy of restraint, settling on her with unmasked derision. His voice cut through the air mercilessly. “Have I ever touched you?”

Heat surged up Seraphine’s neck at the question, humiliation crawling across her skin as she jerked her head away in shame, because no, he never had. All this time, she had been the only one to initiate any form of intimacy, and he had never once indulged her, always dismissing her advances with talk of political affairs and matters he deemed far more important.

Levan’s voice dropped lower as he regarded the shame on her face. “No,” he answered for her, almost mockingly. “I never wanted to. Not your hands, not your lips, not even a breath shared between us. Whatever fantasies you spun were yours alone.”

Seraphine’s face crumpled in rage, her fingers gripping the front of her dress it almost tore. “You’re lying—”

“I don’t need to lie to you,” he interject harshly, his restraint worn to threads. “If you felt warmth, it was from your own desperation pressing against a wall I never let you through.”

Seraphine quickly shook her head in disbelief, tears brimming on the corner of her eyes, frantically denying his claim. “…You’re treating me like this because of her, aren’t you? Because you have a wife now, that little princess,” her voice broke. “You don’t even love her, yet you’re defending her like—”

The last tether on his anger finally snapped. He abruptly stood up, as if standing might smother the fire of his temper before it consumed him. For years he had endured her persistence with the barest restraint, weathered her dramatics with silence, and dismissed her advances with tolerance born only of duty. But patience, once exhausted, could break even the coldest of barrier.

“Do you know what infuriates me the most, Seraphine?” He cut her off once again, his face twisted dangerously. “That all I’ve ever asked of you — the only thing — is to not do something idiotic, yet here you are, driven by nothing but jealousy and weaving childish schemes as if endangering the princess would gain you anything.”

He leaned forward, cornering her against the edge of the cushion, his hand slamming onto the armrest with such force the wood beneath creaked under his grip. His gaze burned into hers, pupils narrowing to slits like he was holding back the wrath of a dragon.

“Do you think I have time to waste on petty rivalries? Do you think your theatrics make you desirable?” He seethed. “All it does is prove how utterly insignificant you’ve made yourself, do you even realize that?”

Seraphine flinched, her whole body recoiling from the feral sharpness and intimidating aura in his gaze. Her throat felt tight, yet she forced the words out anyway, each syllable shaking with both terror and defiance.

“So that’s it, then? I’m nothing now? After the years I was by your side…after all the times I was there when no one else was, you throw me aside for some delicate little thing who knows nothing of you?”

Levan had to veer his head to the side just to roll his eyes. Talking to her was like arguing with someone who only hears their own echo.

“Do you think she could ever endure you the way I have? She’s weak, Levan. Pathetic! She’ll never survive in your shadow!” Seraphine went on with gritted teeth.

“And when she breaks…don’t come crawling back to me.” Her hands shook as she balled them into fists, but she lifted her chin anyway, a fragile mockery of obstinacy, making Levan scoffed loudly.

“For God’s sake—no one is talking about her,” he snarled, incredulous. “I summoned you here because of your scheme, but you twist it into some absurd rivalry as if I’m choosing between you. Do you even hear yourself?”

Levan regarded her with the kind of stare that stripped every ounce of her pride. The more he listened, the more irrelevant her words become. It was as if she were desperately trying to defend a truth that never existed. His fingers dug in harder into the armchair, splintering the woods with a snap that left the woman rigid with fear.

“Stop this before it goes further. End it before I make it an open conflict with House Dorovian itself,” he spat and leaned back, deliberately straightening to his full height before his temper could drive him to something he would regret, but his eyes flared with warning. “And believe me, if it comes to that, I will not hesitate.”

Seraphine finally faltered, her lips parting soundlessly, but Levan’s gaze remained merciless. With quiet disgust, he brushed the fabric where her touch lingered like wiping away a stain. His gaze flicked once more to the gaping neckline of her gown, the fabric slipping low enough to leave nothing to imagination, making his lips curled in contempt. “Have some dignity, Seraphine.”

Without sparing her another glance, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving Seraphine in the wreckage of her own desperation.

For a long, breathless moment, Seraphine remained motionless in the velvet cushion, her chest heaving as if the air itself refused her. Slowly with trembling fingers, she tug her gown back over her shoulders, clutching at fabric that no longer felt like armour but shame itself.

She smoothed her sleeves and wiped at her neckline, doing anything to busy her hands; to keep from acknowledging the hot trails of tears spilling down her cheeks. She bit her lower lip so hard it started to bleed, but she did not care.

Humiliation burned beneath her skin, crawling deeper than any wound. He had stripped her of everything — her pride, her dignity, even the fragile illusion she had for him, but even now, with her heart splintering, she still ached for him. Still wanted him.

The sharpness of his voice, the fire in his eyes, the look of disgust on his face, even his contempt, all of it made her pulse race with the same feverish hunger she had never been able to extinguish. Like an obsession she did not want to let go of.

Then the thought of her surged up unbridle. That fragile little princess, the one who had stolen Levan from her, the one he had chosen to defend, the one who thought she can have him…Seraphine’s nails dug into her palms as fresh fury shimmer beneath her grief.

No. This would not end here. She could not just let someone else take Levan away from her. She was here first!

If Levan would not come to her, then she would make him see and regret ever casting her aside; then she would need to do something to make him hers. She will prove to him that they belonged together, that the one who should be beside him is her, and no one else. Not even the princess.

The sting of rejection still seared in her heart, but beneath it, something darker took root, because Seraphine would not let this go.

~×~

On the other side of the hallway, Ilaria’s steps echoed faintly against the silent corridor, her chest still aching with the image she could not banish. Seraphine’s hand against his chest, her voice soft and too intimate…She pressed a palm to her own heart as if she could steady it, but the more she tried, the more it trembled.

By the time she reached her chamber doors, she only wanted to collapse, to bury herself beneath the covers and pretend none of it was real. She just wanted to sleep and maybe cry a little, all to numb the sadness at the fact that her husband has someone else!

Ilaria stepped into her chamber, shoulders sagging, eyes downcast like a kicked puppy. She blinked through tear-stained lashes and slowly lifted her gaze, scanning the familiar room that suddenly felt…different.

For some reason, the air felt thick and oppressive. Heavier, as though something had gathered around her and waiting for the right moment to surge forward and suffocate her. Ilaria took a step back, a shiver crawling up her spine, her body instinctively recoiling, though it was still too early in the morning.

Then the voice came.

A whisper, low and jagged, curling like smoke into her ear, carrying the familiar dreadful words from that night.

“Daughter of Light…”

Ilaria stiffened, her throat tightening, fingers clutching at the fabric of her gown as every hair on her body rose in alarm. Her feet dragged her backward, trembling, until her back struck the door and her hand seized the handle in a desperate grip.

“You…”

The lanterns extinguished in a single, abrupt breath of air. The balcony doors, once open in quiet majesty, slammed shut. Curtains that had been drawn wide to welcome the glorious light suddenly shuddered, swaying as if seized by unseen hands before falling closed to smother the sun.

“…do not…”

Ilaria twisted the handle in desperation, only to freeze in horror when the truth struck. The door would not open.

“…belong here.”

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