SERAPHINA'S POV
His voice cut through the clearing like a blade.
Everything stopped instantly.
The crowd froze, the sound dying mid-breath as if it had never existed. Even the men holding her hesitated, hands still gripping the fabric, eyes snapping toward him in stunned obedience.
"But… my Lord, why?"
The question spread faster than it should have, not because it was bold, but because it was allowed to exist.
That alone was enough to shift something in the air. I watched the unease ripple through them as Lucas stepped down, small fractures forming beneath their usual obedience. They seemed not to be used to this, not from him.
"What are you doing, Father?" Layla's voice cut sharply through the tension as she tried to stand, but Marcus pulled her back down without even sparing her a glance, his grip firm, his patience thinner than usual.
"Sit," he muttered under his breath.
I didn't move. Not yet.
Marcus stepped forward instead, bending to pick Ivy up.
He lifted her carelessly, throwing her over his shoulder, her body folding with the motion, her arms hanging limp as her fingers brushed against the ground with each step.
Her head tilted back just enough for the moonlight to catch her face. Up close earlier, she had looked fragile. Now, she looked claimed by it.
Blood had dried in uneven trails along her back, cutting through what remained of the white gown, the fabric clinging damply to her skin. It no longer resembled anything ceremonial. It clung to her like aftermath.
"I said that's enough."
Lucas's voice carried again, heavier this time, edged with something that pressed against control. It was louder, firmer, but not enough to silence them.
"But My lord … these are the rules," Mr. Sebastian said carefully, stepping forward with measured restraint that didn't quite hide the firmness beneath it.
Another voice followed. Then another.
"We have upheld this tradition for years."
"Or does it change now… because she is yours?"
There it was not defiance, not yet.
I shifted my attention back to Lucas, watching the way his fists tightened slowly at his sides. Not suddenly. Not impulsive.
The kind of restraint that always came before something irreversible. He didn't answer them. Instead, he turned, and his gaze found me.
Of course.
I stepped forward without hesitation.
Marcus handed her over, and this time I took her fully into my arms. Her weight settled against me, heavier than before, her body completely unguarded.
Her head fell against my shoulder without resistance, her breath faint against my neck, too shallow, too uneven. Her skin was warmer than it should have been under this moon, feverish beneath the cold night air.
Alive.
Barely.
"This is unfair!" one of the elders snapped, the restraint in his voice breaking. "What are we teaching them?"
"That justice bends for blood?" another added, sharper now.
"This is tradition," a third insisted, though his voice lacked the certainty it had moments ago.
Lucas broke then.
"I will not let you strip my daughter."
There was no control in it anymore, Just something raw, personal and that was the mistake.
His adviser moved quickly, stepping in close, his voice lowered but not low enough to escape notice. "If you do this, they will remember," he warned." You yourself have slayed other people's children, They will question everything. Authority is not declared, it is maintained."
Lucas pulled free.
"I do not care for your plesant speeches."
Of course he did.
He just hadn't felt the cost yet.
He stepped forward again, moving through them with a presence that still commanded space, but no longer complete certainty. He was about to speak, about to reclaim control in the only way he knew how, but he was already too late.
The oldest one stepped forward.
Predictable.
"What will our people think?" the old man asked, his voice trembling with age but strong enough to carry. "A Lord who does not follow his own laws?"
He turned slightly, addressing the others now, drawing them in.
"How do we teach discipline… if he shows none?"
And there it was.
The fracture.
Small.
But spreading.
"He is not fit—"
"This is weakness—"
"He bends for blood—"
The whispers grew, gaining weight, feeding on each other, until they became something louder, something harder to contain.
Lucas turned sharply.
"Be quiet!" he roared, the force of it cutting through them instantly. "I do not want her stripped and that is final."
Silence followed.
But it was no longer obedience.
It was a calculation.
His gaze returned to me.
"Take her."
I adjusted my hold on Ivy without a word, securing her against me before turning away from the circle. Her body remained slack in my arms, her breath brushing faintly against my skin, uneven but still there.
But as I walked towards the exit, I heard it loud and clear.
"If this is so… then you are no longer fit to be our Lord."
I froze.