The coffee was still steaming when Serena Ashworth poured it over the old woman’s hands.

In the grand mirror-lined dressing room of the estate's east wing, Serena Ashworth turned slowly before a three-panel gilded mirror, her eyes bright with a dangerous, intoxicating euphoria.

The dress was a triumph. Crafted from custom ivory silk by a famous Parisian house, it featured a trailing train of delicate lace and a bodice encrusted with thousands of tiny river pearls. It hugged her slender frame perfectly, making her look every inch the billionaire's bride she had dreamed of becoming since her teenage years in private boarding schools.

"Stunning, Miss Ashworth," her celebrity makeup artist gushed, applying a final dust of rose gold highlighter to Serena's cheekbones. "Simply breathtaking. Mr. Moore won't be able to breathe when he sees you."

Serena smiled at her reflection, tilting her head to catch the light. "Edward has decent taste, I suppose. Though I’ll have to redesign this entire estate once the wedding is over. It’s far too rustic. Too much cold stone and dark wood. It feels like a museum."

Her mother, Victoria Ashworth, bustled into the room, wearing a plum-colored taffeta gown that rustled loudly with every step. Her fingers were dripping with emerald rings, and her face was flushed with champagne and triumph.

"Serena, darling!" Victoria gasped, clasping her hands together. "The driveway! You should see the cars outside! I’ve never seen anything like it! There are dark stretch limousines with diplomatic flags, blacked-out SUVs with private escort motorcade guards, and people walking into the grand hall wearing actual medals! Real European nobility!"

Serena’s smile widened, her eyes flashing with pride. "I told you, Mother. Edward isn't just rich. His family has ancient connections. He told me his family had holdings in central Europe, but I didn't realize his social circle was quite this high."

"Arthur spoke to a gentleman in the foyer who claimed to be the Undersecretary of the Swiss Banking Federation," Victoria whispered frantically, leaning close to her daughter. "Serena... what does Edward’s family actually do?"

"It doesn't matter what they do," Serena said smoothly, adjusting her diamond chandelier earrings. "What matters is what they have. Millions. Billions. Land, status, influence. Tonight establishes me at the absolute top of the social ladder. No one in New York will ever look down on the Ashworths again."

She thought briefly of her former friends from the country club—women who had snickered behind her back when her father’s hedge fund took a hit three years ago. Tonight, those same women were standing in the ballroom below, sipping her champagne, realizing that Serena had eclipsed them all forever.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. Farrow stepped into the room. The head housekeeper looked unusually pale, her hands folded tightly over her black apron.

Serena’s face hardened instantly. She turned away from the mirror, her voice dripping with dismissive contempt. "What is it, Mrs. Farrow? I told you not to bother me until the music started."

"Pardon me, Miss Ashworth," Mrs. Farrow said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "I was instructed to inform you that Mr. Moore requests your presence in the gallery balcony before the formal entrance."

Serena sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes toward her mother. "Edward is so melodramatic. He probably wants to give me another family heirloom before the guests see it." She stepped toward the doorway, pausing right beside Mrs. Farrow. "By the way, did that old incompetent maid finish cleaning up her disaster in the west hall?"

Mrs. Farrow looked Serena directly in the eyes—a gesture so unusually direct that Serena felt a sudden, fleeting prickle of annoyance.

"Margaret has finished her duties, Miss Ashworth," Mrs. Farrow said quietly.

"Good. Tell her to stay in the basement for the rest of the evening. If she creeps into the main hall with that pathetic, miserable face of hers, I’ll fire her myself before the night is over."

Serena didn't wait for an answer. She picked up her heavy ivory train and swept past the housekeeper, her silk skirts rustling against the polished floorboards.

She walked down the long, vaulted portrait gallery that connected the master suites to the grand ballroom balcony. Through the tall arched windows, she could see the sprawling front grounds of the estate.

She paused.

The driveway was completely jammed—not with luxury sports cars or colorful party vans, but with dozens of massive, dark armored transports. Men in crisp black military uniforms with silver shoulder braids were standing at ten-yard intervals along the stone walls, holding automatic sidearms. High-powered searchlights mounted on heavy tripods were sweeping across the perimeter woods.

Serena frowned, a seed of confusion planting itself in her mind. Security? For an engagement party? Isn't this a bit excessive even for old money?

She brushed the thought aside. Edward was paranoid about privacy, as most absurdly wealthy men were.

She reached the heavy mahogany doors of the grand gallery balcony, which overlooked the two-story ballroom below. The sound of a live string quartet drifted up through the floorboards, playing a soft, haunting classical piece.

Serena pushed the doors open, a sweet, practiced smile spreading across her painted lips. "Edward, darling, your security team is being completely ridiculous outside—"

She stopped.

Standing at the edge of the velvet-draped balcony overlooking the crowd below was Edward.

He was dressed not in a standard tuxedo, but in a breathtaking military dress uniform of deep midnight blue, adorned with a crimson silk sash across his chest, gold epaulets on his shoulders, and dozens of sparkling diamond medals pinned over his heart. He looked taller, broader, and terrifyingly regal.

Beside him stood six towering guards in full ceremonial armor, their gloved hands resting on the hilts of polished silver broadswords.

Edward turned slowly to face her.

His face—usually so gentle, so warm, so full of easy affection—was completely void of emotion. His dark eyes were cold, distant, and unreadable.

"Edward?" Serena whispered, her voice faltering as she took a slow step forward. Her confidence suddenly felt paper-thin. "What... what is all this? Why are you wearing that uniform?"

Edward looked at her, his gaze sweeping over her immaculate ivory dress, her pearls, her manicured beauty.

"You look very beautiful tonight, Serena," he said, his voice flat, echoing in the quiet space of the gallery.

Serena forced a light, fluttering laugh. "Thank you, darling. But you’re scaring me a little. Who are all those armed men outside? And why are the guests looking up at us like that?"

She stepped toward the balcony railing and glanced down into the grand ballroom.

The sight made her blood turn to ice.

The two hundred guests below—including her parents, her high-society friends, foreign dignitaries, and wealthy businessmen—were not standing around chatting or sipping champagne. They were standing in dead, reverent silence, arranged in neat, orderly rows.

And every single one of them was looking up at the balcony with expressions of profound awe and absolute terror.

"Edward..." Serena breathed, her hand trembling as she reached for his arm. "What is happening?"

Edward did not touch her hand. He stepped back, maintaining a cold three-foot distance between them.

"Tonight was supposed to be the night I asked you to share my life," Edward said softly. "The night I asked you to rule alongside me."

"Rule?" Serena blinked, completely lost. "Rule what? Edward, you're a businessman! You own real estate!"

"I own a kingdom, Serena," Edward corrected her quietly. "My full name is His Royal Highness Prince Edward Alexander Valdemore, Crown Prince and Regent of the Sovereign Realm of Valdemore."

Serena stood frozen. Her mind spun wildly, trying to process the words. Prince? Crown Prince? A kingdom?

A wild, ecstatic rush of heat surged through her veins. A prince! I’m marrying a prince! I won't just be rich... I will be a royal! A princess!

A blinding smile broke across her face. "Edward! A prince? Oh my God! Why didn't you tell me?! We can announce it right now! The press—"

"You didn't let me finish," Edward interrupted, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying authority. "I said tonight was supposed to be that night."

Serena’s smile faltered. "What do you mean was?"

At that exact moment, the heavy brass doors at the far end of the ballroom below were thrown open with a thunderous crash.

The string quartet stopped playing instantly.

A towering man in a silver-braided military uniform stepped into the doorway, raised a golden trumpet to his lips, and blew a sharp, piercing three-tone heraldic fanfare that shook the glass chandeliers.

Then, a deep, reverberating voice echoed across the silent room, carried through the estate's master acoustics:

"ALL RISE FOR HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY, MARGARET VICTORIA, DOWAGER EMPRESS OF VALDEMORE, PROTECTOR OF THE REALM!"

Serena’s heart skipped a beat. Empress Margaret? Edward's mother? She’s here?

She leaned over the balcony railing to see the grand entrance of the Empress.

Down below, at the end of the long red carpet stretching through the ballroom, a woman stepped through the arched threshold, escorted by four high commanders of the Imperial Guard.

She was wearing a breathtaking gown of deep, midnight-blue velvet, an imperial sapphire tiara that burned like blue fire under the chandelier lights, and a crimson sash of supreme royal authority.

Serena stared.

She pressed her manicured hands against the marble railing, leaning further over the edge, her eyes wide with total confusion.

The face beneath that glittering sapphire crown...

The steady, gray-blue eyes...

The calm, unshakeable posture...