Seraphine’s POV

The rope held.

I tested it twice more, wrapping the coarse fibers around my fist and yanking with all the strength left in my wasted arms. The beam above creaked but didn’t give. Good. It needed to hold only once.

Rain dripped through the gap in the roof where the thatch had rotted away seasons ago. It landed in a steady rhythm against the stone floor. A steady drumbeat counting down what remained of my life.

I smiled.

The monastery had been my prison for eighteen years. Not the grand dungeon I’d imagined when they’d dragged me north in chains. No iron bars. No guards posted at the door. Just this—a crumbling cottage at the edge of a forgotten village, surrounded by nothing but frost and silence and the slow erosion of time.

That was Elara’s genius. Her particular cruelty.

She hadn’t killed me. Hadn’t even locked me away properly. She’d simply... removed me. Cut me out of the world like a surgeon excising a tumor and tossing it into the waste bin. No resources. No royal support. No way back. Just me and an infant Ethan in the dead of winter, with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Merciful. That’s what they called it at court, I’m sure.

I called it torture.

The letter sat on the table. I’d written it this morning. The ink was dry now. The words precise. Every sentence calculated to maximum effect.

My dearest Ethan,

If you are reading this, then I am gone. Know that I chose this—not because I wished to leave you, but because they left me no other choice.

Kaelen Nightfire’s spies found us a few weeks ago. I did not tell you. I could not bear to see the fear in your eyes. They delivered their ultimatum recently: my quiet suicide, in exchange for your life. Or they would come to execute you.

I chose you. I will always choose you.

Everything I told you is true. Your father was pure Alpha blood—royal blood, cast aside. You are the rightful heir. Valerius Nightfire is a fake, born to a low-born bitch. He sits on YOUR throne. He wears YOUR crown.

Do not mourn me, my son. Avenge me.

Your loving mother

Lies. Every word. Beautiful, poisonous lies.

No spies had found us. No ultimatum had been delivered. Kaelen Nightfire probably hadn’t thought of me in years. Why would he? He had his perfect empress. His perfect children. His perfect empire.

They’d forgotten me entirely.

And that—that was what I could not forgive.

I picked up the letter and placed it where Ethan would find it immediately. On the floor, just inside the door. He would see it before he saw me. Would read it with shaking hands. Would look up—

And there I would be. Swinging.

The timing had to be perfect.

I stood by the chair and closed my eyes, letting the memories surface. Not the good ones—I’d burned those long ago. The bitter ones. The ones I’d nursed like embers through endless frozen nights.

Elara’s face when she’d pronounced my sentence. Those ice-blue eyes, cold as the northern winds she’d condemned me to.

“You may take the infant,” she’d said. Voice flat. Final.

I’d screamed. Begged. Thrown myself at Kaelen’s feet, and he hadn’t even looked at me.

The baby had been merely an infant. Gareth’s child. Not Kaelen’s.

I let the hatred warm me. It always did.

Those first years with Ethan had been the worst. A newborn crying at three in the morning while snow piled against the door. I survived on pure, burning hatred.

And I poured every drop of it into my son, brainwashing him systematically.

“You are of pure Alpha blood,” I told him at five.

At ten, I taught him to fight.

“Valerius Nightfire is a fake,” I whispered at fifteen, watching my son split a practice dummy. “A fake born to a low-born bitch. Everything that should be yours, he has taken.”

From five, ten, fifteen, to his final eighteenth year, Ethan was shaped into a weapon of vengeance.

I opened my eyes.

The rain had stopped. Late afternoon.

I listened.

There. Footsteps on the path outside. The familiar stride.

Hearing him return with a rabbit for our evening meal and call out, “Mother?”, I stepped onto the chair.

I slipped the rope around my neck.

As Ethan burst through the door—having grown into a tall, handsome Alpha—I kicked the chair away without hesitation.

The rope seized tight and cut off my breath. My body jerked, but I ignored the agonizing pain. Instead, I immersed myself entirely in the sheer terror and rage blossoming on Ethan’s face.

“Mother! No!” Ethan screamed, lunging for me. His hands desperately grabbed at my legs, trying to take the pressure off the rope, but it was too late.

My vision began to blacken at the edges. I was certain that my legacy of hatred and this final, motivational gift would completely destroy Elara and Kaelen’s perfect family.

As the darkness swallowed everything and I died with a smile, Ethan roared, “I’ll kill them!”