THE ROYAL DIVORCE: My Secret Wife Is the Enemy

The cathedral felt like a giant tomb. Too many candles flickered, filling the high ceiling with smoky shadows. The air hung thick and sweet, smelling like too many roses and hot wax. Important people from all over Eldorra packed the benches, their fancy clothes rustling, their jewels sparkling like cold eyes. They watched, waiting.

Prince Lucian stood straight as a spear beside the gold-covered altar. His black uniform, covered in shiny medals, felt heavy and tight. This wasn't a happy day. This felt like being sentenced. He glanced sideways. The reason for his sentence stood there, hidden under a white veil. Her. Seraphina Dravens. Daughter of the family his father had crushed. Enemy blood wrapped in wedding silk.

The priest's deep voice boomed out, echoing off the stone walls. "Prince Lucian Theron Valtair... do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for better or for worse, till death parts you?"

Lucian clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. His father's cold words rang in his ears: "Marry her, Lucian. Marry her or watch our kingdom burn." He had no choice. "I do." The words felt dry and bitter in his mouth.

The priest turned. "Lady Seraphina Isolde Dravens... do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, till death parts you?"

A pause. Silence stretched. Then her voice cut through the quiet, clear and cool like ice. "I do."

Two attendants stepped forward. Carefully, they lifted the delicate lace veil.

The whole cathedral seemed to suck in a breath.

Lucian felt his own breath catch. Stunning wasn't the right word. She was like a storm made beautiful. Waves of black hair, dark as midnight, fell around her shoulders. Her skin was smooth as cream. But it was her eyes that pinned him. Green. Not soft green. Green like sharp, broken glass. Green like poison. She looked right at him. Not like a shy bride. Like a soldier facing the enemy.

Whispers hissed through the crowd like snakes. "Look at her... just like her traitor mother..." "Dangerous creature..." "How dare she stare at the Prince like that?"

The priest smiled. "You may now seal your vows with a kiss!"

Lucian's stomach twisted. He had to do it. He leaned in close. He smelled wild mint and salt, like the sea, on her skin. Strange for a cathedral full of roses. His lips brushed hers. It was quick. Cold. Hard. Over in a heartbeat. But in that tiny moment, he saw it flash in her green eyes. Pain. Real, deep pain. Then it vanished, hidden behind a wall of ice.

Loud applause exploded, bouncing off the walls. White flower petals rained down from above. Music started playing, loud and happy. But Lucian felt nothing but a cold stone in his chest.

They walked back down the long aisle, her hand resting lightly on his arm. It felt like a hot brand burning through his sleeve. He leaned his head close to hers, his voice a low growl only she could hear over the noise. "Welcome to your cage, Princess Dravens."

Her lips, the color of pale roses, curved. Not a smile. A warning. Her voice was just as low, just as clear. "Welcome to your mistake, Prince Valtair."

***

The wedding feast was blinding. The huge palace hall glittered with a thousand lights from crystal chandeliers. Rainbows danced on gold plates piled high with food Lucian didn't want – roasted birds with their feathers fanned out, towers of fruit, glistening meats. He watched Seraphina. She sat beside him at the high table, stiff as a statue in a dress the deep green of forest shadows. She hadn't touched her wine. She hadn't eaten a single bite.

"Not thirsty?" Lucian asked, swirling the dark red wine in his own heavy glass. His voice was flat. "Or just scared of what might be in it?"

Her green eyes flicked away from him, landing on Duke Cassian, Lucian's uncle. The Duke was laughing too loudly with a group of nobles across the room. Seraphina's voice was calm. "Only a fool isn't careful about poison at a royal feast."

Suddenly, the huge doors at the end of the hall crashed open. The music stopped. Two guards marched in, dragging a figure between them. It was a young man, barely more than a boy. His face was a mess of blood and bruises. His clothes were torn and dirty.

"Your Highness!" the guard captain shouted, his voice rough. "We caught a spy! Skulking near the King's private chambers! He had these!" The captain threw down a small, flat device onto the marble floor. It looked like a communication pad. The screen flickered with a symbol – a black raven. The Dravens family crest.

Silence. Thick, heavy, dangerous silence. Every single person in the hall turned. Every eye stabbed towards Seraphina.

Lucian saw it. A tiny flinch. The smallest tremble in her left hand where it rested on the table. Then, nothing. She became perfectly still again, her face like carved ice. Cold fury tightened Lucian's chest, making it hard to breathe. So soon. It starts so soon.

He stood up. The scrape of his chair was loud in the silence. His voice, when it came, cut through the room like a knife. "Take my wife," he commanded, pointing at Seraphina without looking at her. "Take her to our chambers." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Lock. The. Door."

Seraphina's head snapped towards him. Her green eyes met his. No fear showed there. Only a bitter, cold understanding. "You are making a terrible error," she whispered, the sound barely reaching him.

He leaned down towards her, close enough to smell that wild mint and salt again, close enough to see the faint pulse beating in her throat. "The error was made the day I agreed to marry you," he hissed back.

As two guards stepped forward to take her arms, Duke Cassian appeared at Lucian's elbow like a shadow. His smile was thin and sharp. "A snake in your bridal bed already, nephew," he murmured, his voice oily. "Shall I fetch someone to cut off its head?"

Lucian ignored him. He watched the guards lead Seraphina away, up the grand staircase at the side of the hall. Her green gown flowed behind her like dark water. What game are you playing, viper? What did you hope to gain?

***

Midnight. Rain lashed against the tall windows of the palace, sounding like thrown pebbles. Lucian stood outside the heavy wooden door of the royal chambers – his chambers, now theirs. He listened. He expected crying. Shouting. Rage. But he heard none of that. Just... scratching. A faint, persistent sound, like fingernails scraping on glass from inside.

He pulled the heavy iron key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. The click echoed loudly. He pushed the door open.

Destruction greeted him. Shattered pieces of expensive vases littered the thick red carpet. Water from the broken vessels soaked dark stains into the wool. Shards of glass and painted pottery crunched under his boots as he stepped inside. Seraphina stood at the far window, her back to him. She wasn't looking out. Her hands gripped the cold stone windowsill so tightly her knuckles were white. She looked like she was bracing herself against a storm, or maybe thinking about jumping.

"Did breaking all my mother's favorite vases make you feel better?" Lucian asked. His voice was soft, almost calm, but it felt dangerous in the quiet room.

She didn't turn around. Her voice was flat. "I was testing the walls of your prison. Looking for weaknesses."

He took another step, his boot crushing a particularly large shard of blue and white porcelain. The crunch was loud. "Your spy," he said, watching her shoulders. "He talked. Before he died. He told us everything."

He saw the muscles in her back tense, just for a second. A ripple under the torn silk of her gown. "Then you know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "he was telling the truth."

Lucian froze. The boy's last, choked words echoed in his memory: *"Not... not here for her... warning... plot... against... the Prince..."* He hadn't believed it. He'd thought it was a desperate lie.

He moved fast. Three long strides and he was across the room. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. The delicate silk at her shoulder tore with a sickening rip.

"WHAT PLOT?" Lucian demanded, his voice rough. He shook her slightly. "Tell me!"

She whirled, stumbling back a step. Moonlight streaming through the rain-streaked window caught her face. Her eyes were wide, the green depths filled not with anger, but with a sudden, sharp panic. Sweat glistened faintly at her temples. Her breath came fast and shallow, fogging the cold air slightly.

"LOOK AT ME!" he roared, tightening his grip on her arm.

She twisted, trying to pull away. As she did, something small and silver slipped from the hidden folds of her skirt near her thigh. It clattered loudly on the marble floor between them.

Lucian looked down. It was a knife. A stiletto dagger, thin and sharp as a needle, barely longer than his hand. The blade gleamed wickedly in the pale light.

He stared. At the knife. At the torn silk at her shoulder, revealing the smooth skin of her upper arm. At the red mark already blooming where his fingers had dug in.

He lifted his gaze back to her face, his own eyes wide with disbelief. "You brought a knife," he breathed, the words scraping his throat. "To your wedding bed."

Seraphina didn't try to run. She lifted her chin, baring the fragile line of her throat. Her eyes, wide with that panicked fear just seconds before, now blazed with defiance. "Do it, then," she whispered, the sound raw. "Kill me. Like your father killed mine. Finish what your family started."

Outside, thunder BOOMED, shaking the very stones of the palace. At the same moment, a violent gust of wind slammed against the large stained-glass window beside them. It shattered inward. Jagged pieces of colored glass – blues, reds, golds, part of the image depicting a proud black raven – exploded into the room, raining down around them like deadly tears.

Lightning flashed, bleaching the room white for a split second. In that frozen moment, Lucian saw the knife on the wet floor, the broken glass, the rain blowing in, and Seraphina standing amidst it all, her green eyes locked on his, waiting.

He took a step back, away from her, towards the door. His voice, when it came, was a low, dangerous whisper that cut through the noise of the storm. "Pick it up." He nodded towards the dagger. "Show me how deep a Dravens viper bites."