Seraphina POV:

I caught my reflection in the polished obsidian mirror. The sheer, gossamer gown clung tightly to my curves, my pale skin glowing faintly in the flickering candlelight. My expression, however, remained as cold as frost.

They used to say I looked like a fallen celestial being, a juxtaposition of innocent allure and icy detachment that always drew wandering eyes.

Earlier, one of the servants had mentioned that Lord Gideon was occupied in his study. I had waited for what felt like hours, my senses sharp, until the heavy, rhythmic tread of dragon-hide boots finally echoed in the corridor.

The heavy oak doors swung open. Gideon Carlisle stood at the threshold. I saw his dark brows knit together in a slight frown, no doubt caught off guard. He likely knew the Dowager Duchess intended to send him a bed-maid, but hadn't expected to find me already situated in his chambers tonight.

I tilted my head upward, letting a calculated, tear-brightened shyness soften my gaze before I even spoke.

My eyes met his. Yet, the formidable heir to the Carlisle Duchy—the pure-blooded Dragon-born warlord they called the Living King of Hell—just stood there.

His eyes were like glacial lakes, devoid of any lust or surprise.

He studied me with the same detached scrutiny one might reserve for a mundane artifact on a desk.

My chest tightened under that apathetic stare. Steeling myself, I rose to my feet. "My Lord," I murmured, my voice steady despite my racing heart, "allow me to help you undress."

As I stepped forward, flushing with feigned maidenly warmth, I was stunned to see him actually take a half-step back.

I knew his reputation well. Gideon was a man of absolute, rigid discipline. By the laws of his household, he visited his legal wife, Lady Helena Montgomery, strictly on the new and full moons, and allotted exactly two other nights a cycle for his lower-ranked mates.

Taking me as a low-tier mate meant adding another obligation to his meticulously ordered life. A Dragon-born of his caliber despised unnecessary exhaustion, and I could clearly see the refusal forming on his lips.

But before he could speak, the heavy tread of Agatha Foster, the Dowager Duchess Cordelia's trusted servant, sounded behind him.

Agatha bustled in carrying a steaming goblet of a potent, crimson-hued fertility elixir—undoubtedly brewed from rare draconic herbs to stir the blood.

I knew exactly what this meant. Gideon had no heirs, a fact that had become the Dowager Duchess's greatest obsession.

His illegitimate half-brother had sired two strong Dragon-born sons in three years, and the lower-born concubines paraded those boys around the fortress like trophies. It had driven the Dowager Duchess to the brink of madness. This elixir was her absolute decree: he was to fulfill his duty tonight, no excuses.

"Leave the chalice, Agatha," Gideon commanded, letting out a faint, resigned sigh. "Tell Grandmother I understand."

Agatha beamed. She knew the future Duke of Carlisle was fiercely loyal to his family's legacy. Having given his word, he would definitely claim me tonight. She practically scurried out, eager to report her success.

Once the heavy doors clicked shut, Gideon turned his piercing gaze back to me. "Let us retire," he said flatly. He stood rigid and extended his arms, waiting for me to strip him of his finery.

As Dowager Duchess Cordelia’s former highest-ranking maid, attending to the nobility was second nature to me. I stepped into his personal space, my hands moving nimbly and quietly according to strict court etiquette as I unclasped his dark velvet surcoat. Under the cover of my task, I stole glances at him.

In the past, I had never dared to look so closely at the Master of the Keep. The other castle maids always whispered of his godlike beauty, and seeing him now, up close, I realized the rumors fell terribly short.

His features were chiseled like ancient marble, his eyes burning with the latent, terrifying majesty of a true Dragon-born. Serving a man with such an imposing, breathtaking presence felt, in some twisted way, like a small compensation for the agonizing torment I had endured in my past life.

After helping him change into his night robes, I reached for the ties of my own sheer gown. It slipped off my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a crimson silk bodice embroidered with a golden drake.

The bewitching red of the silk contrasted sharply with my pale skin, enhancing the gentle swell of my breasts and the delicate curves of my waist. In the dim light, I knew I looked like a living painting, a temptation crafted to steal a man's breath.

Any ordinary lord would have long since lost his restraint, pulling me fiercely into his arms. But Gideon was no ordinary man. He cast a single, impassive glance over my body, and his eyes instantly reverted to their glacial serenity.

Just as my mind raced, scrambling to figure out my next move, his large, calloused hand suddenly shot out. He gripped my wrist and pulled me into the massive, fur-draped bed.

The heavy velvet covers fell over us as his strong arm locked tightly around my waist, pulling my back against his chest.

A surge of relief and vindication rushed through me. Beneath the shadows of the furs, my fingers quickly closed around a pristine white handkerchief I had hidden earlier.

Although a low-tier mate like me wasn't officially required to present a maiden's cloth to Duchess Eleanor or Lady Helena Montgomery as proof of purity, the bitter lessons of my previous life had taught me never to be careless.

I had to leave myself a shield. Even in the bed of the future Duke of Carlisle, I would never again leave an opening for my enemies to destroy me.

Seraphina POV:

Lord Gideon didn’t say a word when he saw me. The smile that had been fixed on my face instantly vanished.

The position he assumed was more rigid and textbook than the diagrams in those aristocratic courtship manuals Agatha Foster had shoved at me. His eyes—those deep, intimidating dragon eyes—were devoid of even a flicker of lust or warmth. I froze completely.

Did his wife and mistresses really not require a shred of tenderness? I had been given a second chance at life; was it too much to ask for a little bit of enjoyment for myself?

With that thought, I reached out, my gaze dripping with feigned affection, and grasped His Lordship's hands.

He stopped immediately. Perhaps it was the first time anyone had dared interrupt him in such a moment. He stared down at me, a mix of confusion and impatience brewing in his expression.

"My Lord," I murmured, forcing my voice into a register so breathy and sweet it practically burned my throat. "You exhaust yourself for the duchy all day. Please, let your servant tend to you tonight. Allow me to... take the lead. Just indulge me this once, please?"

I had to secure my own happiness, even if it meant playing this ridiculous part. Gideon just looked at me without a word. His dark eyes were bottomless, giving nothing away. Had I angered him? Afraid to hesitate any longer, I whispered a seductive thank you and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He seemed entirely unprepared for such an aggressive approach. He stiffened, and in that split second of hesitation, I slipped past his guard. But before I could go further, his large hand clamped down on me, halting my movements entirely. His face darkened.

"Insolence," he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Seeing his sudden anger, I quickly forced tears into my eyes, letting them pool pitifully. I noticed his posture relax a fraction at the sight of my submissive, teary gaze—apparently, my display of vulnerability satisfied his draconian pride.

Feigning absolute terror at his reprimand, I gave a violent shudder and stopped completely, gazing up at him like a startled deer. But an instant later, I boldly caught his hand.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

I peered up at him innocently, though I was laughing inwardly. Clearly, a man's hands were incredibly sensitive, and the great Dragon-born heir was no exception. Outwardly, I immediately plastered on a look of utter adoration, softening my voice to a sickly-sweet pitch.

"My Lord, the outside world claims your achievements are solely due to the Carlisle Duchy's influence. But when I feel the calluses on your palms and fingertips, I know the truth... You've earned every bit of your glory through your own blood and sweat!"

I could see the subtle softening in his jawline—the flattery had definitely hit its mark, even though he maintained his stern facade.

"Speak properly," he scolded. "Do not try to curry favor."

"Yes, My Lord," I agreed obediently, though I deliberately dragged out the syllables into a melodious, teasing purr that I knew would crawl under a man's skin.

Seeing my wide, innocent eyes, he clearly knew I was doing it on purpose. With an exasperated huff, he crashed his lips against mine, silencing me. Knowing I had finally sparked something real, I eagerly took the initiative. The experience that followed turned out far better than the rigid chore I had anticipated just moments ago.

When it was all over, I lay on the grand bed, quietly disgusted. If I actually fell asleep on these damp, tangled sheets, I’d probably wake up with aching joints. I was only here to fulfill my duty as a low-tier mate to breed an heir, not because I was actually in love with the Lord. Whoever wanted to suffer through this miserable aftermath could have at it.

With that thought, I quietly slipped out of the bed and properly dressed myself. Taking the proof of my completed duty, I offered Gideon a flawless curtsy.

"My Lord, I shall not disturb your rest any longer. I beg my leave."

Before he could say a word, I turned and made my exit. I caught a glimpse of genuine surprise flashing across his face. Perhaps he was used to mistresses who lingered, desperately trying to stay the night or coax him into another round to secure his favor. Whatever the case, he simply gave a slow nod, seemingly letting my earlier audacity slide.

Honestly, I couldn't care less about what Gideon thought of me. Now that my task was complete, all I wanted was a good night's sleep. Trudging back to the servant's quarters Agatha had arranged for me, I hastily drew some water, scrubbed myself clean, and collapsed onto my own bed, sprawling out comfortably.

I ran the calculations in my head: with this done, I wouldn't have to worry about facing Duchess Eleanor empty-handed tomorrow. My position in the castle was secure, at least for now. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, the tight knot of anxiety in my chest finally unraveled. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to be shaken awake at dawn by the soft whispers of Poppy Miller.

"Miss Seraphina, wake up! It's time to pay your respects to the Lady at the main estate!"