Chapter 17

       “They have arrived, My Lady.”

       She set down the papers she had been reading, her expression sharpening with awareness.

       Right. The new recruits for Bolden Drakar.

       The next generation of blades, carefully chosen—some from bloodlines sworn to her family, others from talent scouted in the shadowed corners of the empire. She rose to her feet with the kind of quiet authority that never needed announcing.

       “Bring them to the courtyard,” she said, her tone crisp. “I want to see their eyes before I hear their names.”

       The guard bowed once more and disappeared with silent efficiency, leaving the heavy door to click shut behind him.

       Seranna crossed to the tall windows, looking down at the torch-lit courtyard below where the storm had only just begun to ease. She could already see the outlines of cloaked figures being led into formation, nervous but proud, unaware that the woman watching them had already begun deciding who would last—and who would break.

        “Can you wait before we have dinner?” Her voice was calm, but there was a deliberate pause before the question, as if she was testing something in the space between them.

       Lorcan lifted his gaze from the crystal glass in his hand. “Sure,” he said, nodding once. “I wasn’t in a rush.” He leaned slightly into the backrest of the settee, eyes following her as she moved across the polished floor of the drawing room. “Besides… I’m a little curious. How exactly do you select the people you trust with your life?”

       That made her stop.

       Seranna turned her head halfway, just enough for him to see the edge of a smile—not warm, not cold either, but laced with something unreadable. “You make it sound like a ritual.”

       “Isn’t it?”

***

       Yes, it was still raining. A quiet, persistent downpour that painted the stone courtyard in a thin shimmer of silver. And yet, every single member of the Bolden Drakar stood immobile beneath the rain, their dark uniforms soaked through, their stances unbroken. Not a single one reached to wipe the water from their faces. Discipline. Precision. Obedience. Each of them was a blade unsheathed, forged in silence.

       At the front of the formation stood a man, his posture like a statue carved by war itself—broad-shouldered, back straight, hands clasped behind him. His beard, streaked with gray, traced the edges of his weathered jaw. His eyes, pale and piercing, surveyed the air with the patience of someone who had waited in worse storms.

       Kranos.

       The name carried weight, even before he spoke. He was the leader of the Bolden Drakar—the first and the fiercest, the man who had once been called a weapon before he became a commander.

       As Seranna stepped into the archway, the echo of her boots against the marble was barely audible over the rain, yet it shifted the air like a blade drawn.

       Kranos turned his head just slightly.

       “My Lady,” he said—nothing more, yet the timbre of his voice struck like a drum in the silence.

       At once, every figure behind him bowed low in perfect unison.

       Not a moment late. Not a breath out of rhythm.

       It wasn’t deference. It was recognition.

       Recognition of the woman who had chosen them. The one they would now follow—not blindly, but completely.

       Seranna didn’t speak right away. She let the moment stretch, let the rain fill the space where words could’ve lived. Her eyes swept over them—not with sentimentality, but with calculation. She was measuring them, just as they had already been measured.

       Not wanting to make his Lady wait, Kranos stepped forward with crisp efficiency, voice clear against the rain’s persistent hush.

       “Alec and Cenno, My Lady. Alecassio Brandon and Cennokaiser W. Osborn.”

       Two new recruits stepped out from the formation. Their posture was taut with awareness, not just of the rain soaking into their uniforms, but of the scrutiny that awaited them.

       Alecassio Brandon and Cennokaiser W. Osborn.

       Their names echoed with precision in Seranna’s mind. That made twenty-three in total now. Twenty-three warriors under her command. Her gaze swept over them—unflinching, analytical. From their damp boots to their set jaws, she took in every detail with calm assessment.

       The recruits didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink. Good.

       “The test is pending,” Seranna said, her voice steady, each word deliberate. “It’s raining. Go back to your Residenz.”

       She shifted her eyes to one of the woman standing further back. “Gareth. Lead Alec and Cenno. Show them where they stand.”

       “Yes, My Lady,” Gareth responded at once, bowing slightly before signaling the two recruits to follow.

       Without missing a beat, Seranna turned her gaze back to Kranos. “I want their files in my study after dinner.”

       Kranos placed a fist against his chest in a firm salute. “Verstanden, My Lady.”

       Satisfied, Seranna gave a single nod. “Disband.”

       At the word, the courtyard shifted. The once-unified formation began to break apart with silent precision. No chatter. No wasted movement. Just the echo of boots against wet stone as the Bolden Drakar returned to their quarters, soaked and silent, every step still in rhythm.

       Rain continued to fall. But the order had been given, and that was all that mattered.

***

       “I don’t care what people say,” Seranna said, her voice steady as she placed her fork gently onto the porcelain plate. The silverware barely made a sound. Her posture remained poised, refined as always, but there was a firmness in her tone that made it clear she wasn’t simply brushing the issue aside—she was putting an end to it. “What’s on their minds will never affect my intention or yours. We never owed them clarity in the first place.”

       She reached for her glass of water, lifting it with grace, and then added with a cool edge, “Whatever they say, Isaak already knows I’m with you. That chapter’s closed. And your family already knows you’re not single anymore. The world can catch up later.”

       She sipped, her expression unreadable, and with that quiet finality, the dinner was done.

       Across the table, Lorcan sat with his usual impassive composure, his knife and fork aligned perfectly as though untouched. He hadn’t said much throughout the meal—he rarely did unless it mattered—but he had listened. Carefully, as he always did when it came to her.

       He gave a slight nod, fingers briefly tapping the side of his glass. “Next week,” he said calmly, “my extended family is holding our annual gathering. I’d like you to come.”

       Seranna didn’t respond right away. Instead, she folded her napkin in deliberate silence, letting his words settle before she answered. “What day?” she asked. “And what time exactly?”

       “Saturday,” Lorcan said, his tone factual, like he was confirming a business meeting. “Full day.”

       Her brows knit slightly as she lifted her gaze toward him. “A full day?” she repeated, her voice laced with curiosity. “What kind of party is this? Just a typical family reunion, or something more... ceremonial?”

       Their eyes locked.

       For a brief second, it felt like neither of them breathed.

       Lorcan’s gaze remained fixed on hers, unblinking, the edge of his jaw tightening just slightly before he spoke. “It’s just a gathering,” he replied, but there was weight behind the words. “Once a year, the entire Millesernan family comes together. It’s a long-standing tradition. And since my father is the eldest among his siblings, the responsibility of hosting always falls to our household.”

       “Ah,” Seranna said, absorbing the context. She leaned slightly back in her chair. “So it’s a legacy thing.”

       “In a way,” he agreed. “Attendance is expected. Presence is observed.”

       She tilted her head slightly, already mentally noting what would be required of her. “Alright then. Any particular dress code I should be aware of?”

       “Not sure yet,” Lorcan answered. “But I’ll let you know the moment it’s confirmed.”

       A beat of silence passed, and then his voice dropped slightly, more measured now—gentler, but undeniably firm. “And I’ll pick you up.”

       Seranna’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—mild surprise, perhaps amusement, or both.

       “No riding alone. No chauffeur,” Lorcan continued, each word deliberate. “Only me.”

       His tone wasn’t commanding. It didn’t need to be. He was simply stating how things would be. Beneath the civility of it all, it was a vow. A quiet promise to be there, to stand beside her, no matter how performative their relationship had started—or how real it was slowly becoming.             

       Then silence returned, wrapping around them like a cloak—not heavy, not awkward, but intimate in its quiet. It was the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be broken, the kind that settled comfortably between two people who had already said enough for the moment.

       Seranna rose from her chair with unhurried grace, the soft rustle of fabric brushing against the quiet. Without a word, she turned and made her way toward the fridge, a habitual movement—domestic, almost ordinary. But she’d barely taken a single step when—

       “Jiêjie!”

       Her eyes widened instinctively, sharp and alert, and she immediately turned toward the direction of the approaching sound. Footsteps—quick and light—echoed against the marble floors, followed by bursts of unmistakable laughter. Feminine. Familiar.

       “Senatha,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, a flicker of panic sliding through her otherwise composed tone.

       But just as she was about to step forward, Lorcan rose as well, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. “No—that’s Celyst’s voice,” he corrected, calm but certain.

       That single sentence made Seranna’s pulse spike even further. Celyst?

       “What is she doing here?” she muttered, more to herself than to Lorcan, her posture suddenly taut.

       She hadn’t told Senatha anything—not that Lorcan was still in her mansion. And Celyst, being Celyst, would absolutely take liberties with any new piece of information she stumbled upon.

       Panic didn’t suit Seranna—but it flickered there, subtly, right beneath the surface.

       “JIÊJIE!”

       “BIG BUNNY!!”

       Both of them gasped in unison, realization dawning with the clarity of a lightning strike.

       “Gosh, that’s Senatha and Celyst,” Lorcan muttered, his brows furrowed as he stepped closer, his tall frame instinctively shifting into a protective stance near her.

       Seranna barely had time to register it before his hand found her waist—firm, steady—and he guided her backward until she was pressed gently against the marble counter. Not forceful. Just decisive. The footsteps outside were no longer a distant echo—they were right outside the hall, accompanied by bursts of gleeful chatter.

       “I don’t know what Celyst is doing here,” Lorcan said, voice low but resolute, eyes locked on the entrance. “But we need to do something, Seranna.”

       He wasn’t panicking. He was planning.

       His hand remained at her side, grounding her, while his gaze darted around the room with sharp precision, already calculating the next step. The sound of shoes clicked against the floor like a countdown. They had seconds—maybe less.

       “What are you doing?” Seranna hissed under her breath, eyes narrowing in sharp warning.

       “Playing my role,” Lorcan answered evenly, his voice low and maddeningly calm. His left hand remained firm on her waist, grounding her, while his right rose slowly—purposefully—to cup her cheek in a touch so tender it nearly betrayed the tension humming between them.

       Alright, she thought. Fine.

       Without another word, Seranna slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer with practiced ease. But inside, her mind was a storm. Damn.

       She could feel it—his heartbeat against her chest. Solid. Steady. Unshaken.

       What kind of entity was this man? No tremble. No panic. No falter. As if none of this fazed him. As if this was just another calculated move in a very long game. And maybe it was. Maybe for him, this was still a performance. But for her?

       With Senatha’s sharp instincts and Celyst’s unpredictability just a door away? No. This wasn’t just about keeping up appearances anymore.

       “Seranna...” Lorcan whispered, leaning in further, tilting his head just slightly until their foreheads almost touched. Their noses brushed—delicate contact, intimate but restrained. No kiss. No act too far. Just the illusion of one.

       They stayed like that. Frozen. A tableau of closeness.

       Of something sacred, something private. It was all in the silence now. Let them walk in. Let them see. Because the most convincing lies… were the ones wrapped in truths.

       Closer. And closer.

       The tension in the kitchen stretched taut, like the final string of a violin about to snap.

       Then—

       The footsteps stopped.

       A pause.

       And then—

       “Aaaaaaa!!”

       Senatha’s shriek tore through the air, sharp and dramatic. She clamped her hands over her eyes like she’d just walked into a horror scene, staggering back as if shielding herself from a crime of passion. “I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything!!”

***