Seraphina stepped into the ballroom and felt the stares like drawn blades. Her heart slammed once, then again. Too fast. Too loud. She forced her breathing into rhythm, but her fingers were already cold.

She’d planned this. Rehearsed it. But that didn’t stop the nausea twisting under her ribs. She was about to pass a note to Caelan Vorenthal, in public, at a palace event, with her husband's eyes sweeping the room like a blade.

Smile. Breathe. Walk.

She lifted her chin and painted on the expression she’d mastered since childhood: serene, unreadable, untouchable. This was theater, and she couldn’t afford to fumble her lines.

Caelan was already watching her. Not idly, his gaze pinned her like a spear.

Evelyne smirked behind her wineglass.

And Alaric?

He wasn’t laughing anymore.

She moved fast, nearly collided with a tray of fruit-stuffed pastries. The servant dodged. She didn’t apologize.

Her eyes swept the room. Velvet, gold, crystal, and poison. Alaric sat on the dais, too loud with a baroness spilling out of her bodice. But his gaze slid her way a second too late, like he’d been watching until she noticed. Her stomach clenched.

He hadn’t seen anything. Not exactly. But his instincts were sharp, and she could feel the pressure building.

Caelan stood where she expected, half-shadowed against a marble pillar. Alaric’s oldest rival, raised beside him, always outshining him, always just out of reach. And now? Watching his wife like she wasn’t his anymore.

Even at a distance, she felt the charge in the air. The mask covered half his face, but not the set of his jaw or the sharp focus in his eyes. He was handsome, the kind that distracted before he struck. A quiet weapon wrapped in restraint.

She hated how much that thrilled her.

She weaved between nobles. Just as she found her opening, Evelyne appeared, wine glass in hand.

“Really, Seraphina? That one?” Evelyne’s tone was silk stretched over a blade. “The Warden General? He doesn’t flirt, he hunts.”

Seraphina sipped her wine. “Then let’s hope I’m worth the kill.”

Evelyne’s smile sharpened. “For your sake, I hope he’s just staring. For his? I hope you’re not.”

The interruption slowed her, but only briefly. She adjusted. Recalculated.

Finally, an opening.

She slipped past two guards, toward the shadows.

“You’ve been circling me all night,” Caelan said, not turning.

“Afraid I’ll catch you?”

“No,” he said, facing her. “I was wondering if you'd dare.”

They were inches apart. Her pulse thudded beneath silk.

“You moved to the far side of the room on purpose.”

He gave the faintest smile. “Had to see how badly you wanted this.”

“So I was a test.”

“A temptation,” he said. “I wanted to see if you’d risk it with everyone watching.”

Her voice dropped. “And now?”

“You passed.”

Their arms brushed. She leaned in to adjust her bracelet, slow, deliberate. Hidden beneath it, the folded note slipped into her palm.

Her fingers trembled as she passed it to him, timed with a light brush of hands. Caelan's grip closed around it like a courtly gesture, smooth and unnoticed.

Inside: guard shifts, access routes, a symbol only he would recognize, and an invitation. A meeting place. A time.

A test of trust. Or desperation.

“Or maybe I wanted you to catch me,” she said.

He didn't answer. He pocketed the note without looking at it. That was answer enough.

She broke the contact first, turning without a word, pulse spiking.

She didn’t look back.

But she didn’t have to.

Alaric was watching her.

He stood near the crowd, arms folded like stone. Their eyes met. The smile on his face didn’t match the ice in his gaze.

“Interesting company tonight,” he murmured as she passed.

She didn’t blink. “You know how I adore variety.”

“And danger?” He nodded toward where Caelan had stood.

“I married you, didn’t I?”

He leaned in slightly. “Evelyne said the two of you looked... engaged.”

She gave a light laugh. “Should I check in with Evelyne before speaking to anyone now?”

He stepped closer, voice tightening. “It’s not about permission. It’s about appearances.”

She offered a smile just wide enough to seem amused. “Then maybe remind Evelyne to mind hers before judging mine.”

His jaw twitched. “This court eats scandal for sport.”

She let her gaze soften. “Then let them choke.”

Then, for the court, for Caelan, for everyone watching, he grabbed her chin and kissed her.

Seraphina didn’t move, but her eyes flicked, just once, toward the pillar.

Was Caelan still watching? She didn’t know. Didn’t dare check again. But she felt the pull. If he saw, what would he think?

Alaric’s kiss wasn’t affection. It was a brand. A claim.

Gasps fluttered nearby.

Her breasts hit his chest as he deepened it, one hand anchoring her waist. Her spine stiffened beneath the silk.

Not passion. Not love. Just performance.

Her skin crawled beneath the praise she’d earned for pretending. That kiss hadn’t just silenced the whispers, it reminded her exactly who still believed they owned her. And who might convince others it was true.

He kissed her cheek, then her temple, each one slow and deliberate, calculated for the audience. Seraphina didn’t recoil, but fire roared beneath her skin. She counted the seconds, jaw tight, smile frozen.

Let them think she was his. Let them see her play the part. Inside, she was already imagining how he’d look when the blade turned. His breath skimmed her ear as he whispered, "Smile for the ones watching."

She forced her lips into a perfect curve, practiced and poisonous. Every inch of her screamed to recoil, to shove him away, but she held the mask in place. Not here. Not yet.

Seraphina raised her glass, lips curving like everything was fine, then walked off without a backward glance. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

She didn’t wipe her mouth. Didn’t react.

But Caelan was gone. Just like that. A flicker of disappointment twisted through her chest, hot, sharp, and irrational. She’d handed him the note, exposed just enough to make it count. And now, nothing.

Had she misread him? Or was this another test, his silence a challenge, his absence a message? She didn’t know. But the uncertainty didn’t paralyze her. It focused her.

If he was watching, she’d give him something worth seeing. No glance. No signal. And that stung more than she expected.

Because she’d handed him a piece of her plan, and now she didn’t know if he’d use it, ignore it, or bury it.

A twist of bitterness curled in her gut. Not shame. Just a reminder that every move costs her.

Once out of sight, she slipped into a side corridor, somewhere quiet, her breath shallow, her pulse racing. She needed a second to cool her head. To calm the rage clawing at her ribs.

The kiss meant he suspected something. Or wanted to mark territory.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Because tomorrow, she would break into the Vessant archive, the one place the Vessants kept locked tighter than the royal treasury. No one ever said why. That was part of the problem. It held something they didn’t want her, or anyone, to see. Records. Contracts. Buried truths.

Whatever was in there, they’d gone to great lengths to keep it hidden.

And if it mattered that much to them, it mattered to her.

Since her regression, since the moment she woke in that too-familiar bed, she’d been planning this. Every step tonight was just groundwork.

Let them watch.

Let them whisper.

Tomorrow, she’d break into the archive and finally learn what the Vessants were so desperate to keep buried.