The door swung open, and the Archduke stepped up, carrying the small bundle that was Mira.
He didn't step in gently. He moved with the efficient, sharp movements of a soldier used to rapid deployment. He ducked his head, entered the plush, dim interior, and deposited Mira onto the seat opposite him.
Thump.
It wasn't a gentle placement; he literally dropped her down. He released her from a few inches above the velvet cushion, treating her less like a child and more like a piece of tactical equipment he was stowing away for later use.
Mira bounced slightly on the springs of the seat, her teeth clicking together. She flinched, her small hands instinctively grabbing the edge of the cushion to stabilize herself. Her heart gave a little jump, a "jumpscare" reaction that sent a spike of adrenaline through her tiny body.
'Hey!' she screamed internally. 'I'm a child, not a sack of potatoes! Do you not understand the physics of a toddler's spine? Handling with care is a basic instruction!'
She glared at him, or at least, she tried to. With her round, tear-stained eyes and chubby cheeks, the glare looked more like a pouty dumpling than a threat.
The Archduke didn't notice. He didn't even blink. He sat down opposite her, his long legs taking up most of the floor space.
He adjusted his coat, the midnight-blue wool settling around him like the wings of a resting crow, and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
The interior of the carriage was suffocatingly luxurious. The seats were upholstered in deep crimson velvet, soft enough to drown in.
The windows were draped with heavy curtains that blocked out the prying eyes of the villagers. A small magical lamp, embedded in the ceiling, cast a cold, sterile light over them.
The silence returned. That beautiful, terrifying silence.
No ghosts. No wailing. Just the sound of the Archduke's steady breathing and the distant murmur of his knights outside.
He stared at her. His violet eyes were analytical, stripping her down to her component parts. He was assessing her value.
"Listen well," he said. His voice was flat, lacking any inflection of warmth. "I am Kaelus Draven von Nacht. Archduke of the Northern Reach, Lord of the Black Bastion, and the Emperor's Sword."
He paused, letting the weight of the titles settle in the air.
"You will remember it. I do not tolerate those who forget whom they serve."
Mira blinked. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
'Serve? Sir, I just wanted a dad, not a boss. And Kaelus Draven von Nacht? Talk about an edgelord name. It sounds like something I would have named a villain in a fanfiction when I was fourteen.'
She sat up straighter, smoothing down the wrinkles in her cheap orphanage dress. "Kae... Kaelus," she mumbled, testing the name on her clumsy tongue.
"Lord Kaelus," he corrected sharply. "Or Your Grace. We will work on your etiquette later."
He leaned forward, his shadow engulfing her. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering over her face for a moment before he tilted her chin up.
He studied her features, the dark hair, the pale skin, the eyes that were perhaps a little too intelligent for a six-year-old.
"Mira," he said, testing the word like it was a piece of rotten fruit. "A common name. It sounds weak. It sounds like something easily forgotten."
He released her chin and sat back, a look of arrogant decision crossing his face.
"It does not suit a member of my household. If you are to be bait, you must at least look like a prize worth stealing. You need a name that carries weight. A name that suggests value."
He looked out the window, though the curtains were drawn, as if consulting the darkness itself.
"Seraphina," he announced. "You are Seraphina von Nacht."
The air in the carriage seemed to drop a few degrees.
'Seraphina?' Mira thought, stunned. 'The Burning One? The highest order of angels? You pick a child out of the garbage and name her after a divine entity? That's not just arrogance; that's a challenge to the gods.'
It was a heavy and burdensome name. But as she looked at him, she realized he wasn't asking for her opinion. He was rewriting her reality. Mira, the shrimp, was dead. Seraphina, the Archduke's daughter, was born.
"Seraphina," she whispered.
"Yes," Kaelus nodded, satisfied with his own creativity. "Now, Seraphina. Let us assess your utility."
He didn't waste time on small talk. He didn't ask if she was hungry or if she was sad to leave her friends. He went straight to the interrogation.
"How old are you?"
"Six," she replied.
"Can you read?"
"A little."
"Can you count?"
"To one hundred."
He scoffed. "Basic. What of history? Do you know the lineage of the Imperial Family? Do you know the geography of the demonic front? What did those incompetent hags in that building teach you?"
He gestured vaguely toward the orphanage outside. "I sent funds to orphanages. Significant funds. Enough to hire tutors, to buy books, to ensure that the potential candidates were educated. Tell me, child. What have you learned?"
Mira looked at him. She saw the expectation in his eyes. He wanted a report on her academic standing. He wanted to know if the money he had "invested" in the orphanage had produced a capable product.
This was her chance.
She could answer him. She could recite the multiplication tables she had memorized in her past life. She could try to impress him with her adult intellect masked in a child's voice.
But that would be a mistake. He was suspicious of her already. If she acted too smart, he might think she was a spy or a demon in disguise.
No. She needed to be a child. But a useful child. A child who observed things.
And she needed revenge.
The memory of the "porridge" they ate, which was mostly water and sawdust, flashed in her mind.