Seraphine Valenne
The worst part wasn't the hunger or the thirst or the cold or the rats.
It was the boredom.
Turns out being locked in a dungeon with no window, no calendar, and absolutely no company is just a painfully long game of "how long can you stay sane before you start naming the mold spots on the wall?"
I made it to five days, maybe? I don't know anymore but mold spot four betrayed me.
So when the guards finally came to collect me, I was almost relieved. Almost.
They didn't say a word. Just stomped in, unchained my wrists, threw a rough cloth sack over my head, and hauled me out like I was stolen grain.
Very dignified.
We walked for what felt like forever. I tried to count the turns but somewhere between the second left and the sixth "ow, my toe hit something," I gave up. The sack reeked of mildew and someone else's sweat, eurgh.
Another layer to add to the scent profile of Lady Seraphina; formerly rosewater and bergamot, now in despair and damp wool.
Eventually, the air shifted. Finally, it was warmer and drier. The sound of wheels beneath me told me we'd boarded something. A carriage, maybe. Then the sack came off.
Light! Blinding, miserable light.
I squinted, blinking through the blur. The space I was in wasn't a dungeon anymore. It was a wagon with plain wood walls, no windows and a single swinging lantern.
Across from me sat two men. One was the inquisitor from the ballroom, still wearing that charming expressionless mask of someone who'd seen one too many executions.
The other… was new.
He looked like he hadn't blinked in ten years. Mid-fifties, maybe. He had long silver hair, perfectly pressed clothes, and the kind of posture that said, "I know things you don't, and I enjoy that fact immensely."
He smiled at me.
I immediately disliked him.
"You've lasted longer than expected," he said, folding his hands.
"Sorry to disappoint," I rasped. "I'll try starving faster next time."
He chuckled, though not warmly. More like a man amused by a clever parrot.
"Most nobles scream. You didn't."
I raised an eyebrow. "Most nobles haven't had to sit through court luncheons with the Dowager Marchioness of Iverna. After that, rats and silence are practically restful."
He liked that. I could tell.
"I'm called Master Corvax," he said. "You may think of me as a… contractor."
"That's ominous."
"It should be."
He reached to the side and pulled out a black lacquered case. He opened it and inside were masks. Dozens of them, some jeweled, carved and plain enough to be forgettable.
"You are dead, Lady Seraphina Valenne," he said. "Officially executed for treason. The capital mourns. The crown is satisfied. And yet… here you are."
I looked at the masks. "So what? I'm supposed to pick a new face like I'm choosing accessories?"
"No," he said. "You're choosing a weapon."
He gestured at the masks.
"These are the faces people expect. The ones they trust, or fear, or overlook. You'll pick one. Wear it, learn it and become it. If you're lucky, you'll last longer than the last girl."
"Charming," I muttered. "What happened to her?"
"She tried to poison a bishop with spoiled wine. Of course, failed."
"Because of the wine?"
"Because she talked too much."
I stared at him. "So I get to live but I'm not allowed to talk? Or be myself? Or breathe too loudly?"
He smiled again. "Welcome to the Empire."
I looked down at the masks and said nothing.
They were beautiful… and terrifying.
But they were also opportunity. Which, let's be honest, was better than being a mold-spot-counting corpse in a forgotten dungeon.
He studied me for a long moment. Then ask "What do you want, Seraphina?"
That question was dangerous and too soon but I answered.
"To make them regret thinking I was ever weak."
So I reached out and picked one. Not the prettiest and definitely not the ugliest. Just… forgettable. A servant's face. The kind you don't look at twice.
"Good," Corvax said. "Now take off that noble pride. It doesn't suit you anymore."
I looked him dead in the eye. "Oh, I packed that away with the rosewater and optimism."
He laughed for real that time and pulled out a parchment.
It was forged identity with a seal and my background. Papers with enough detail to fool any registrar.
Ciera Dorne.
It's too plain and easy to forget.
I stared at it. My new name.
Ciera.
A girl who sewed lace and smiled too much. Who curtsied when spoken to and never once commanded an army or debated foreign policy over breakfast.
"Do I get to choose?" I asked.
"You get to survive," Corvax replied. "And if you do that well enough, one day, you'll have your pick of names."
I looked at the name again.
She wouldn't scream in court and wouldn't challenge the prince. She would clean up spilled wine and pretend she didn't hear the secrets whispered behind silk fans.
She was nobody. Which made her the perfect mask.
I nodded once.
He handed me the papers. "Then it's done."
The inquisitor stood. Corvax did not.
"I suggest you spend the next two weeks learning to walk like a commoner. Speak like one too. You'll be placed in a noble household in the capital. One with eyes. You'll listen, smile and be forgettable."
"And if I'm not?"
He leaned forward.
"Then you die. This time for real."
—
–
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That night, I watched the fire from a hilltop as they burned a body wearing my dress.
They said it was me. That Lady Seraphina Valenne had confessed to treason and been executed at dawn. There were tears in the capital. Toasts in the court. I'm sure Caelan even managed a poetic sigh.
Seraphina Valenne was dead.
But someone new was about to learn how to live.
And if she learned it well enough… she might just learn how to burn them all down.