From Sacrificial Lamb To His Queen

Seraphina POV:

"Take off the gown."

I knelt on the cold marble floor, my head bowed low. Like a dozen other girls, I was a lamb waiting for inspection—a vessel being judged for one singular purpose: to become the chosen mistress of Lord Gideon Carlisle and bear him the heir he so desperately needed. The sound of Dowager Duchess Eleanor Carlisle's footsteps echoed in the vast hall, each click of her heel landing like a hammer blow against my heart.

My fingertips trembled slightly, a faint, involuntary heat creeping up my cheeks. Obediently, I reached down and untied the sash at my waist. The heavy fabric of my maid's uniform slipped smoothly past my hips, pooling at my feet and leaving me in nothing but a thin, pale chemise to cover my body.

As I shifted my stance, the delicate linen rode up slightly, exposing the curve of my waist. In the crisp morning light filtering through the chamber windows, my skin glowed like polished alabaster, bright enough to catch anyone's eye.

Yet, Duchess Eleanor Carlisle and her trusted attendant, Agatha Foster, paid absolutely no mind to my slender waist. Instead, their sharp, evaluating gazes were fixed firmly on my hips—which were noticeably fuller than those of the other Dragonless maids in the estate. I could see a sudden, predatory gleam ignite in their eyes.

"Your Grace, I believe Seraphina is a wonderful choice," Agatha murmured, a pleased smile spreading across her wrinkled face. "She has the wide hips of a fertile breeder, perfect for carrying a child. Furthermore, having been raised under your strict discipline for so many years, she knows her place perfectly. She won't attempt to bewitch or manipulate the young lord."

"Indeed, your eye is as sharp as ever," Duchess Eleanor chuckled, a calculating smile gracing her impeccably maintained features. "Seraphina, prepare yourself. Tonight, you shall serve Lord Gideon."

I knelt submissively on the cold stone floor, though the Duchess's words made my head spin with a sudden, dizzying sense of déjà vu.

In my past life, I had knelt in this exact spot. Only then, fully clothed, when the Duchess had ordered me to undress for inspection, I had refused without a second thought. I am already betrothed, Your Grace. I beg for your mercy, I had pleaded. The House of Carlisle had always prided itself on its magnanimity toward its servants; though displeased, the Duchess had returned my indenture contract. I had taken my freedom papers and my meager savings, rushing back home, foolishly believing I could finally marry a common scholar and live in peace.

Instead, my own family had shattered my leg without a second thought, immediately selling me off as a breeder to a decrepit, eighty-year-old baron just to drain me of my worth. In my past life, I was naive and obedient, only to be betrayed by my own flesh and blood, tortured, and left to die a miserable, broken death in a freezing cellar.

But the Gods had given me a second chance. In this life, I refuse to be a sacrificial lamb. I will survive within the walls of this mighty castle at any cost. I will climb into Lord Gideon's bed, weaponize his absolute power and protection, and use the Carlisle name to crush the vile family that ruined me. I will never let anyone step on me again.

The horrors of that agony were still too raw, too suffocating. My dark eyelashes fluttered as I forced the traumatic memories down, pressing my forehead against the hard floor in a display of profound deference. "I am forever grateful for Your Grace's favor!" I replied, making sure my voice trembled with nothing but absolute gratitude.

Seeing that I didn't break into a desperate, ambitious grin like other shameless harlots might have, the Duchess looked even more satisfied.

"Lord Gideon has been married for years without an heir. If you can bear a male Dragon-born, he will be the next ruler of this Duchy."

The Duchess paused, studying my reaction. Knowing exactly what she needed to see, I allowed a perfectly measured glimmer of awe and yearning to touch my eyes. Seeing this, she nodded in deep approval. This was exactly what she wanted—a servant driven enough by the promise of glory to serve the young lord with total devotion, ensuring the continuation of the Carlisle bloodline.

"You are my personal maid. Not even Lady Helena, Gideon's lawful wife, can easily dismiss you," Duchess Eleanor continued. She slid a heavy, ornate bracelet from her own wrist and secured it around my arm.

I looked up at her, letting tears of overwhelmed devotion fill my eyes. "Thank you for elevating me, Your Grace. I swear to serve Lord Gideon with everything I have, to ease your burdens."

Only after I bowed my head to the floor one last time did she finally dismiss me.

The moment I stepped out of her grand chambers, the feigned warmth vanished from my eyes, replaced by a freezing detachment. I caught the envious stares of the other maids lingering in the corridor, and a faint, mocking smirk touched my lips.

If I actually had a choice, I would gladly trade places with any of them. I had zero desire to become a lowly, disposable mate for the heir. All I ever wanted was to survive until my service ended and marry a decent man. Lord Gideon and Lady Helena had been married for three years, and neither she nor his two other highborn concubines had produced a single child. Either something was terribly wrong with Gideon's dragon blood, or someone in this castle was masterminding a sinister plot in the shadows. Bringing a child into this viper's nest would be near impossible.

Furthermore, even if I did miraculously conceive, Duchess Eleanor was a ruthless matriarch. Given her iron-fisted methods, she would undoubtedly dispose of the lowborn mother while keeping the pureblood heir. If that happened, I would lose my life anyway.

If I wasn't utterly cornered, why would I ever willingly agree to be his bedmaid?

But for now, I desperately needed the terrifying shadow of Lord Gideon Carlisle to shield me from the bloodsucking leeches I called a family. Survival came first; the rest I would have to plan carefully, step by step.

My immediate crisis, however, was tonight's task. Lord Gideon was notoriously rigid, a cold and disciplined warlord who valued order above all else. If he refused to touch me tonight, by morning I would be the laughingstock of the castle, likely stripped of my position and cast right back into my family's abusive clutches.

The mere thought of the Whites made me inhale sharply. I clenched my fingers into fists, delving into the dark, desperate memories of my past life, recalling every trick of survival I had ever learned. I began to calculate in my mind—no matter what it took, no matter what methods I had to employ, I had to ensure the young lord claimed me tonight.

Deep into the night, I was escorted into the heart of Lord Gideon's private sanctum. Freshly bathed and perfumed with the heady scent of night-blooming jasmine, I was dressed in a gossamer-thin silk shift that clung to my damp skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The sheer fabric dipped dangerously low, showcasing the heavy swell of my breasts, while the high slits at the sides exposed the bare, trembling length of my thighs.

I knelt silently on the plush rug beside his massive bed, purposely arching my lower back to emphasize the lush curve of my hips—the very asset that had won me this spot. My nipples peaked tight against the cold silk, aching with a mixture of dread and fierce determination. Every time the heavy oak door rattled in the wind, a shiver wrecked through my core, sending a rush of heat between my thighs. I was a virgin offering, served on a silver platter for a ruthless warlord's pleasure. I pressed my knees wider apart, making sure I looked utterly pliable, utterly ready to be consumed the second he walked through that door, waiting.