Duke, it hurts...

There was a persistent problem in Count Alaric's household, and it always circled back to his eldest daughter, Seraphina Alaric. The count often grumbled about how much money had been wasted on her, given that she was always sick and confined to her bed.

If there had been even the slightest hope of her recovery, perhaps his attitude would have changed. But Seraphina's health had always been fragile, and her constant illnesses gradually wore down her parents' affection. They no longer saw her as a daughter to be loved, but as a burden, they had to bear.

Seraphina spent more time in her room than anywhere else, missing out on all the things other noble children enjoyed—parties, gatherings, even simple walks in the garden. The longer her sickness lasted, the fewer people came to visit. At first, there had been concerned relatives and curious friends, but as months turned into years, the visits dwindled to nothing. She was left in total isolation, and with that isolation came the inevitable rumors.

Rumors about her began to spread like wildfire. Some said she was cursed, that her illness was a punishment from the heavens for some unknown sin. Others claimed she was a witch, struck down by her own dark powers. The truth, of course, was much simpler: she was just sick. But the truth rarely held much weight when gossip was involved.

Whenever Count Alaric looked at her pale, weak face, he could feel nothing but frustration and anger. He never offered her a kind word or a gentle smile. Instead, he hurled insults at her, calling her cruel names like "cursed child." The rumors that surrounded her only made him more furious, and before long, he had her confined to her room. He couldn't stand to look at her, couldn't bear the sight of her ghostly appearance, so he shut her away, hoping to forget she even existed.

Seraphina had long since grown used to the coldness of her family. Family warmth was something she had never really experienced. Her meals were brought to her room, where she ate alone, listening to the distant sounds of laughter and conversation from the rest of the household. Her parents' neglect had set the tone for the rest of the family. Her siblings ignored her as if she were invisible, treating her not as their sister but as an inconvenience.

Though she was the count's daughter, she was seen by everyone as a burden—a burden they all secretly wished would disappear. Whenever someone spoke of her, it was with a resigned air, as if they were just waiting for the inevitable.

"Who knows when she'll finally pass away?" they whispered. And Seraphina couldn't really blame them for thinking that way. Sometimes, she felt the same. Her illness often felt like it was slowly killing her, taking away her strength bit by bit. Yet, despite everything, she had survived longer than anyone had expected. She had reached the age where noble daughters were usually wed, but no suitors had come calling for her.

The reason for that was painfully clear.

One morning, Count Alaric's frustration boiled over. He summoned Seraphina to his study, his voice thundering through the halls. The household staff knew better than to get in his way when he was in this kind of mood.

"You worthless thing!" he roared as soon as she entered the room, his voice loud enough to rattle the windows.

To him, Seraphina had always been a disappointment. From the moment she was born, she had been nothing but trouble. His eldest daughter should have been a source of pride, securing a good marriage that would benefit the family. But instead, she had no prospects, no future. She was a drain on the family's resources, and her continued existence was an embarrassment.

"How did I end up with a child like you?" he spat, glaring at her with undisguised contempt.

Seraphina stood in silence, her head bowed, her pale hands clasped in front of her. She had heard all of this before, countless times. It didn't hurt any less, but she had learned how to endure it.

"Why does our family have to suffer this humiliation?" he continued, his voice rising with each word. "Do you have any idea how much I've lost because of you?"

Known for his ambition, Count Alaric had always been desperate to climb the social and political ladder. A strong marriage alliance was his best shot at gaining more power and wealth, but Seraphina had failed to provide that opportunity. To him, she was a dead weight, holding him back from his goals.

Political marriages were nothing new in their world. In fact, they were expected. They weren't about love or affection; they were about securing alliances, increasing influence, and strengthening ties between powerful families. The count had married Seraphina's mother for those very reasons. It had never been a love match, but it had been beneficial for both families. In his eyes, marriage was nothing more than a transaction, a means to an end. And Seraphina had failed in her duty to contribute to that plan.

He slammed his fist onto his desk, causing a pile of papers to scatter.

"Why hasn't anyone asked for your hand in marriage?" he demanded, his face twisted with anger. "What's wrong with you?"

Seraphina didn't respond. There was no point. She hadn't asked to be spared from marriage; in fact, she had long since resigned herself to the fact that it would likely be her only escape from this life of isolation. But she also knew that no one would ever come forward to offer for her—not while she remained sick and frail.

But today, there was something different in her father's tone. It wasn't just anger. There was something else—something she hadn't heard before. Desperation.

"There is one proposal," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Seraphina blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. A proposal? Someone had actually proposed to her? For a moment, hope flickered in her heart. Could this be her chance? Could this be her escape from the prison that her life had become?