The hallway of the Royal Academy's administrative wing was usually a sanctuary of quiet efficiency.

It smelled of old parchment, floor wax, and the subtle ozone tang of preservation magic.

Seraphina Ashwood valued this silence. It was predictable. It was orderly.

She stood by the faculty mail slots, sorting through a stack of requisitions for fire crystals.

Her movements were precise. Snap. Sort. Stack.

Two junior instructors stood nearby. They were discussing the merits of wind magic in naval combat.

They stopped talking abruptly.

Seraphina felt the shift in the air before she heard the footsteps.

The rhythm was wrong for an academic. It was too heavy. Too authoritative.

She turned.

A man in the gray and crimson livery of the High Court stood in the doorway. He held a scroll case sealed with black wax.

He scanned the room. His gaze landed on Seraphina. He did not look apologetic.

"Lady Seraphina Ashwood?" the man asked.

The junior instructors pretended to look at their papers. They were failing miserably.

"Yes, I am Professor Ashwood," Seraphina corrected. She kept her voice level. "How may I help you?"

"I am a courier for the Noble Magistrate," the man announced. He stepped forward.

He held out the scroll case like a weapon.

"You are hereby served with a formal petition regarding the Ashwood estate and inheritance."

Seraphina froze. The stack of requisitions in her hand crinkled slightly.

"This is a place of learning," she said. Her voice dropped to a chill whisper. "You could have sent this to my residence."

"The petitioners requested immediate delivery upon location," the courier said monotonously. "Please accept the seal."

He shoved the case toward her.

Seraphina had no choice. To refuse was to invite a scene. To accept was to admit the scene had already happened.

She reached out. Her gloved hand took the cold leather case.

"Thank you," she said. It was a dismissal.

The courier nodded once and turned on his heel. He marched out, leaving a wake of stunned silence.

Seraphina stood there. She felt the weight of the scroll. It felt heavier than a broadsword.

She could feel the eyes of the junior instructors boring into her back.

She didn't turn around. She didn't explain.

She walked to her office. She closed the heavy oak door and locked it.

Then she cast a sound-dampening magic.

Only then did she break the seal.

Her hands shook. She hated that they shook. She had faced monster hordes.

But this was paper. Paper cut deeper.

She unrolled the parchment. The legal script was dense, but the meaning was brutal in its clarity.

Petition for the Revocation of Spousal Inheritance.

Petitioners: Lord Baron Ashwood and Family.

Her eyes scanned the paragraphs. They skipped the legal jargon and hunted for the accusations.

There.

...violation of the spirit of the bequest...

...failure to maintain the dignity of the deceased...

And then, the name.

...observed repeatedly in the company of Lord Marcus Aldridge in contexts suggesting romantic impropriety...

Seraphina stopped breathing.

The room spun.

They had been watching. Richard's family had been watching her.

They claimed she had "moved on." They claimed her grief was a performance that had now ended.

Therefore, the house was forfeit.

The house she and Richard had bought two months before he deployed. The house where his books still sat on the shelves.

They wanted the stipend. They wanted the jewelry.

They wanted the silver locket she wore under her tunic every single day.

Seraphina lowered the scroll to her desk.

She felt a wave of nausea.

It wasn't about the money. She had her salary. She could live in the faculty dorms.

It was the accusation.

Faithless.

That was the word hiding behind the legal text.

They were saying she didn't love him enough. They were saying she had forgotten him.

And why?

Because she had coffee with a man who listened to her. Because she allowed someone to drape a coat over her shoulders when she was tired.

Because for the first time in three years, she had smiled without forcing it.

Seraphina sank into her chair. She covered her face with her hands.

The logic was twisted, but it pierced her armor perfectly.

She had allowed herself to feel happy. And now, the universe was punishing her by taking the last pieces of Richard away.

I did this, she thought. I was selfish.

She looked at the scroll again. It lay on her desk like a coiled viper.

She didn't cry. Crying was for people who deserved comfort.

She simply stared at the wall, while the cold slowly seeped into her bones.

✧✧✧

The quarters were dark.

Seraphina hadn't lit the mana lamps. She sat in the armchair by the window, watching the moon rise over the Academy grounds.

The shadows in the room were familiar friends.

On the small table beside her sat a framed portrait. It was a miniature, painted on ivory.

Richard looked back at her. He had that half-smile he always wore when she was explaining spell theory.

He looked proud. He looked kind.

"I'm sorry," Seraphina whispered to the painting.

Her voice sounded loud in the empty room.

She picked up the frame. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw.

"I didn't mean to replace you," she said. "I never wanted to replace you."

The legal summons lay on the floor where she had dropped it.

It accused her of forgetting.

But she hadn't forgotten. She remembered everything.

She remembered how he snored.

She remembered how he burned toast every single morning.

She remembered the way his hand felt in hers, rough and warm.

But lately, other memories were intruding.

Marcus offering her tea. Marcus listening to her rant about academic politics. Marcus looking at her with eyes that saw the woman, not the widow.

She felt a spike of guilt so sharp it made her gasp.

How could she hold both?

How could she hold Richard's memory in one hand and Marcus's kindness in the other?

The Ashwood family was right. That was the terrible truth she couldn't escape.

She was splitting her heart. And by doing so, she was betraying the man who had died for his kingdom.

"I tried," she whispered. "I tried to be what you needed. A monument."

But monuments were cold. Monuments were stone.

Marcus had told her she didn't have to be invincible. He had told her she was allowed to be tired.

He was wrong, she thought bitterly. Weakness has a cost.

If she had stayed cold, if she had stayed the Ice Queen, none of this would be happening.

Richard's family would be content. Her inheritance would be safe. Her conscience would be clear.

The warmth she felt around Marcus was a trap. It was a siren song leading her onto the rocks.

She stood up. She placed the portrait back on the table. She set it down with extreme care, aligning it perfectly with the edge.

She made a decision.

She would fix this.

She couldn't stop the lawsuit. The Ashwoods were determined.

But she could stop the cause.

She had to remove the infection.

She had to cut away the part of herself that wanted to live again.

No more coffee dates.

No more lingering conversations in the library.

No more hoping for accidental meetings.

She would handle the legal battle alone. She would face the magistrate and take whatever punishment they deemed fit.

She would not drag Marcus into this.

He had tried to help her. He had been kind.

He didn't deserve to be named in a sordid legal filing as the "other man."

She would protect him by removing him.

Seraphina walked to her closet. She pulled out her darkest, most formal robes.

The ones with the high collars. The ones that looked like armor.

She hung them on the door.

Tomorrow, Professor Ashwood would return to duty.

But Seraphina?

Seraphina was going away for a long, long time.

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