Chapter 11
SERAPHINA
The journey back to the Eastern Kingdom takes five days.
I spend them sitting in the cramped carriage, watching the landscape change from snow-covered mountains to the rolling green hills of home. The driver doesn’t speak to me except to indicate when we’re stopping for the night. No courtesy, no “Your Highness,” just silence and cold efficiency.
Somewhere around the second day, I start feeling sick. Nausea comes in waves, making me press my hand to my mouth and breathe slowly. I assume it’s from the rejection—my body adjusting to the severed bond, the emptiness where it used to be.
The exhaustion is worse. Sleep doesn’t help. My breasts are tender, my body aches, and the nausea gets stronger in the mornings. I tell myself it’s stress. Everything I’ve been through catching up with me.
Luna remains silent through it all, still curled up and broken in my mind.
When we finally cross into Eastern territory, I see the familiar forests and roads I’ve traveled my whole life. Instead of relief, shame burns in my chest.
I’m coming home in disgrace. Marked and rejected by the Ice King. The runaway princess who destroyed a peace treaty and reignited a war.
The closer we get to the palace, the more I want to turn around and run.
The palace gates open as we approach, and I see guards scrambling into formation. Word must have been sent ahead that I was coming.
The carriage rolls to a stop in the main courtyard, and I take a deep breath before the door opens. Whatever happens next, I need to face it with dignity. It’s all I have left.
When I step out, the first thing I notice is the silence. Dozens of servants and guards stand watching, but no one speaks. No one moves. They just stare at me with expressions ranging from pity to barely concealed contempt.
Then I see my parents.
Mother stands at the top of the palace steps, her hand pressed to her mouth. Father is beside her, his face carved from stone, but I can see the devastation in his eyes even from here.
I force my legs to carry me forward, up the steps toward them. Each step feels like walking to my own execution.
“Mother. Father.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I’m home.”
Mother makes a choked sound and pulls me into her arms, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe. I feel her body shaking with silent sobs.
Father doesn’t embrace me. He just stands there, looking at me like he doesn’t recognize his own daughter.
“Inside,” he finally says, his voice rough. “Now.”
They take me to Father’s private study, away from the curious eyes of the court. Mother hasn’t let go of my hand since we left the courtyard, gripping it like she’s afraid I’ll disappear again.
Father closes the door and turns to face me. For a long moment, he just looks at me, and I see him cataloging the changes—the weight I’ve lost, the shadows under my eyes, the mark on my throat that I haven’t bothered to hide.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice is quiet, which is somehow worse than if he’d shouted. “Any idea at all?”
“Yes.” I meet his eyes. “I know exactly what I’ve done.”
“Do you? Because when you fled with Marcus, did you think about the consequences of your actions? Or did you only think about yourself?”
“I only thought about myself,” I admit, my voice breaking. “I was selfish and naive, and I thought I could just… choose my own happiness without consequences. I was wrong.”
The admission seems to take something out of Father. His shoulders sag slightly.
“What’s done is done,” Mother says softly. “She’s home now. She’s alive. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” Father’s eyes drop to the mark on my throat. “While that mark throbs on her neck and his scent still clings to her like a second skin?”
Silence falls over the room. I’d prepared myself for this moment—knew I’d have to explain why I came back marked—but suddenly I can’t speak. The words stick in my throat.
Mother moves closer, her voice soft. “Tell us what happened, dear. Why do you bear the Ice King’s mark?”
“He captured me. Discovered we were mates. Marked me. Then rejected me.” I say it flatly, without emotion. “He sent me home three days ago.”
Mother gasps, her hand flying to her own mating mark—the one Father gave her decades ago. “He rejected you? After marking you?”
“His duty came first.” I hear the bitterness in my own voice. “Just like you always said it should.”
“Seraphina—” Mother starts.
“Don’t.” I pull my hand from hers.
Father studies me for a long moment. “You’ve changed.”
“I had to.”
Mother reaches for me again, and this time I let her take my hand. “We’ll figure something out,” she says desperately. “Everything will be fine.”
I don’t react to her words. I’ve already cried enough from the bond being cut off. There are no tears left.
“The Northern Kingdom sent word that you were being held prisoner,” Father says. “We’ve been negotiating for weeks, trying to secure your release or at least confirm you were alive.”
This is his way of telling me that even though he was furious with me, he didn’t abandon me. I know this without him having to say it.
“Get some rest.” He crosses the room and presses a kiss to my forehead. “We have a court to face that demands your head now that you’re back. But first, rest, my dear.”
He leaves, and Mother and I are left in the heavy silence.
