The second House of Velvet Sin opened under a blood moon.
Seraphina didn't plan it that way.
She simply took what the gods offered—and made it a threat.
Silverdeep's harbor district had never seen anything like it:
A sprawling estate, draped in banners the color of crushed velvet and blackened gold.
Inside:
Tables gleamed with charmed dice.
Crystal glasses floated on air.
Whispers of illusion magic coiled through the chandeliers.
No loud music. No brash announcements.
Just quiet wealth.
And the kind of invitation list that made lords fight each other for a glance inside.
At the center of it all, Seraphina sat at the top of a marble staircase; in her throne.
Dressed in a gown that shimmered like spilled ink, graceful ragdoll laying in her lap. She looked almost bored, indifferent to be exact but no one could possibly ignore her striking presence.
Rhys stood behind her, two shirt buttons undone. Occasionally, his threatening gaze swipe across the hall making the arrogant lords and ladies shiver.
Lucien moved among the crowd, smiling tightly, already calculating tonight's profits against tomorrow's dangers.
And the nobles came.
Old money.
New blood.
Thieves in silk.
Merchants with too-bright smiles.
They drank.
They gambled.
They laughed a little too loudly.
And every coin they dropped fed her empire.
---
But not everyone was celebrating.
In a smoky private salon two streets away, a small gathering of men sat hunched over wine and ledgers, their voices low and furious.
"She's draining Silverdeep dry," one snarled.
"She's pulling nobles into debt—quietly. With sweet lies and fatal charm."
"She has to be stopped."
The oldest among them—thin, sharp-eyed, dressed in robes that once meant something—tapped his fingers against the table.
"We'll make it look natural," he said.
"A fire. An accident."
The others nodded.
And the oldest leaned forward, voice a whisper.
"Let's see how much her empire bleeds without its queen."