From Sacrificial Lamb To His Queen

Seraphina POV:

I caught my reflection in the polished obsidian mirror. The sheer, gossamer gown clung tightly to my curves, my pale skin glowing faintly in the flickering candlelight. My expression, however, remained as cold as frost.

They used to say I looked like a fallen celestial being, a juxtaposition of innocent allure and icy detachment that always drew wandering eyes.

Earlier, one of the servants had mentioned that Lord Gideon was occupied in his study. I had waited for what felt like hours, my senses sharp, until the heavy, rhythmic tread of dragon-hide boots finally echoed in the corridor.

The heavy oak doors swung open. Gideon Carlisle stood at the threshold. I saw his dark brows knit together in a slight frown, no doubt caught off guard. He likely knew the Dowager Duchess intended to send him a bed-maid, but hadn't expected to find me already situated in his chambers tonight.

I tilted my head upward, letting a calculated, tear-brightened shyness soften my gaze before I even spoke.

My eyes met his. Yet, the formidable heir to the Carlisle Duchy—the pure-blooded Dragon-born warlord they called the Living King of Hell—just stood there.

His eyes were like glacial lakes, devoid of any lust or surprise.

He studied me with the same detached scrutiny one might reserve for a mundane artifact on a desk.

My chest tightened under that apathetic stare. Steeling myself, I rose to my feet. "My Lord," I murmured, my voice steady despite my racing heart, "allow me to help you undress."

As I stepped forward, flushing with feigned maidenly warmth, I was stunned to see him actually take a half-step back.

I knew his reputation well. Gideon was a man of absolute, rigid discipline. By the laws of his household, he visited his legal wife, Lady Helena Montgomery, strictly on the new and full moons, and allotted exactly two other nights a cycle for his lower-ranked mates.

Taking me as a low-tier mate meant adding another obligation to his meticulously ordered life. A Dragon-born of his caliber despised unnecessary exhaustion, and I could clearly see the refusal forming on his lips.

But before he could speak, the heavy tread of Agatha Foster, the Dowager Duchess Cordelia's trusted servant, sounded behind him.

Agatha bustled in carrying a steaming goblet of a potent, crimson-hued fertility elixir—undoubtedly brewed from rare draconic herbs to stir the blood.

I knew exactly what this meant. Gideon had no heirs, a fact that had become the Dowager Duchess's greatest obsession.

His illegitimate half-brother had sired two strong Dragon-born sons in three years, and the lower-born concubines paraded those boys around the fortress like trophies. It had driven the Dowager Duchess to the brink of madness. This elixir was her absolute decree: he was to fulfill his duty tonight, no excuses.

"Leave the chalice, Agatha," Gideon commanded, letting out a faint, resigned sigh. "Tell Grandmother I understand."

Agatha beamed. She knew the future Duke of Carlisle was fiercely loyal to his family's legacy. Having given his word, he would definitely claim me tonight. She practically scurried out, eager to report her success.

Once the heavy doors clicked shut, Gideon turned his piercing gaze back to me. "Let us retire," he said flatly. He stood rigid and extended his arms, waiting for me to strip him of his finery.

As Dowager Duchess Cordelia’s former highest-ranking maid, attending to the nobility was second nature to me. I stepped into his personal space, my hands moving nimbly and quietly according to strict court etiquette as I unclasped his dark velvet surcoat. Under the cover of my task, I stole glances at him.

In the past, I had never dared to look so closely at the Master of the Keep. The other castle maids always whispered of his godlike beauty, and seeing him now, up close, I realized the rumors fell terribly short.

His features were chiseled like ancient marble, his eyes burning with the latent, terrifying majesty of a true Dragon-born. Serving a man with such an imposing, breathtaking presence felt, in some twisted way, like a small compensation for the agonizing torment I had endured in my past life.

After helping him change into his night robes, I reached for the ties of my own sheer gown. It slipped off my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a crimson silk bodice embroidered with a golden drake.

The bewitching red of the silk contrasted sharply with my pale skin, enhancing the gentle swell of my breasts and the delicate curves of my waist. In the dim light, I knew I looked like a living painting, a temptation crafted to steal a man's breath.

Any ordinary lord would have long since lost his restraint, pulling me fiercely into his arms. But Gideon was no ordinary man. He cast a single, impassive glance over my body, and his eyes instantly reverted to their glacial serenity.

Just as my mind raced, scrambling to figure out my next move, his large, calloused hand suddenly shot out. He gripped my wrist and pulled me into the massive, fur-draped bed.

The heavy velvet covers fell over us as his strong arm locked tightly around my waist, pulling my back against his chest.

A surge of relief and vindication rushed through me. Beneath the shadows of the furs, my fingers quickly closed around a pristine white handkerchief I had hidden earlier.

Although a low-tier mate like me wasn't officially required to present a maiden's cloth to Duchess Eleanor or Lady Helena Montgomery as proof of purity, the bitter lessons of my previous life had taught me never to be careless.

I had to leave myself a shield. Even in the bed of the future Duke of Carlisle, I would never again leave an opening for my enemies to destroy me.