Substitute Bride: My Comatose Husband Awakes

SERAPHINA POV:

I burst into the Duke's study, the heavy oak doors slamming against the stone walls with a deafening crack.

The sight that greeted me turned my blood to ice. Mrs. Gable, my frail, beloved guardian, was forced onto her knees on the cold marble floor. Her face was pale, her grey hair disheveled.

My heart sank. Sure enough, Lady Beatrice wouldn't let me off so easily. She knew Mrs. Gable was my weak spot, so she was using this to pressure me. I had to stay calm and not let her see through my cards.

Willa, Beatrice's loyal and treacherous maid, stood behind her. Her hand was a claw, gripping the old woman's hair and yanking her head back.

And there, sitting behind the massive desk like a queen on her throne, was Beatrice. A triumphant, cruel smile twisted her painted lips. "Did you think you could outsmart me, Seraphina?"

All my calculated calmness, all my cold fury, evaporated. Seeing Mrs. Gable in pain stripped away every layer of my composure. This was my weakness, my one soft spot in a world of sharp edges.But even so, I couldn't just sit back and await my fate. My mind raced, searching for any sliver of a chance to strike back. I had to take control of the situation instead of letting her lead me around by the nose.

"Let her go," I commanded. My voice dropped an octave, echoing with a strange, unnatural resonance that made the air in the room feel heavy.

Willa scoffed, pulling harder on Mrs. Gable's hair. "Mind your tone when speaking to the Duchess, you filthy Dragonless."

A soft whimper escaped Mrs. Gable's lips. Her fragile wrists trembled.

Beatrice leaned forward, savoring her victory. "You will marry Gideon, and you will not take a single copper of the dowry. Or she dies. Right here. And we will say she had a tragic fall."

I stood perfectly still. My eyes darted around the room, assessing. The distance to Willa. The heavy iron poker resting by the unlit fireplace. The weight of it in my hand.

"I agree to the marriage," I said slowly, taking a deliberate step into the room.

Beatrice's smile widened. "Good girl. Willa, lock the old hag in the cellar. We'll let her out after the wedding is done."

Willa yanked Mrs. Gable up roughly. "Move, you useless sack of bones."

That was the exact moment my patience snapped.

I didn't scream. I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward with a speed that shocked them all, my hand closing around the cool, heavy iron of the poker in one fluid motion.

Before Willa could even turn, I swung. The heavy iron connected with her right wrist with a sickening crack that echoed through the study.

Willa's ear-piercing scream was instantaneous. She collapsed to the floor, clutching her mangled, unnaturally bent hand, sobbing hysterically.

I stepped over her writhing body and pulled Mrs. Gable behind me, shielding her. The end of the iron poker dripped with a single, dark drop of Willa's blood.

Beatrice jumped from her chair, her face a mask of absolute horror. "Guards! Guards!"

"Scream all you want," I said, my voice dangerously calm. I stepped toward the desk, letting the tip of the poker leave a faint scratch on the polished mahogany. "If the guards come in, they will find you've assaulted the King's prophesied bride. And they will see a witness." I gestured to Willa's broken wrist. "Who do you think hangs for treason?"

Beatrice froze. Her mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish, trapped in the web of her own political maneuvering.

I leaned down, looking Willa dead in the eye as she whimpered on the floor. "Touch my mother again, and I'll break your neck next."

Then I looked back at Beatrice. "The fifty thousand gold pieces. And a carriage, with a driver I trust, to take Mrs. Gable to a safe house in the countryside. Today."

Beatrice stared at the blood on her pristine marble floor, then at my face. She finally nodded, frantically, utterly broken.

I dropped the iron poker. It clanged loudly against the stone hearth, and Beatrice flinched as if struck.

I gently helped Mrs. Gable to her feet. Her hands were shaking as she clutched my arm, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

"Let's get you packed, Mother," I whispered softly, my voice losing its hard edge. I guided her out of the blood-stained study, leaving Beatrice and her screaming maid behind.

As we walked down the hall, my adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a cold dread. I reached into the small pocket sewn into my dress, a subconscious habit, seeking the comfort of my one true possession. My fingers met only empty fabric. My dragon-scale pendant. It was gone.