The summons arrived sealed with the imperial crest. Theodore held the parchment in his hands longer than necessary, his jaw tightening as he read the words aloud: "Attendance required. The Duke and Duchess of Lancaster shall present themselves at the Imperial Banquet."
It was not a request. It was a command.
Theodore felt the weight of it immediately. The banquet was no ordinary gathering—it was a stage where alliances ought to be displayed, where whispers carried more power than swords. And for them, a couple whose marriage had been the subject of rumors and pity, it was no different from a test.
He glanced at Selene across the room. She sat by the window, her shawl draped neatly, her gaze fixed on the garden as if the world outside mattered more than the parchment in his hand.
"A banquet is nearing, they want us there..." Theodore said carefully.
Selene turned her head slowly, her expression unreadable. "Of course they do. They must think we are entertaining."
Her words stung, but Theodore knew she wasn't wrong. The imperial family thrived on spectacle, and their fractured union was ripe for scrutiny.
"I'll decline it, best if you don't attend. You are still recovering." He uttered with resolve. This statement made Selene turn her gaze with an expression of confusion unmasked. "To what? So they can ruin the Lancasters' name even more? Have you lost it?" she expressed.
For Theodore, the banquet was a chance—a flimsy, desperate chance to prove that he and Selene were still united. He imagined the eyes of nobles upon them, the whispers of courtiers, the smirks of rivals. If Selene stood beside him, if she smiled even faintly, perhaps the empire would believe in their reconciliation. Perhaps he could believe it, too.
But beneath that hope was dread. He had seen the way her eyes never softened, the way her smiles never reached her soul. He feared that the banquet would not mend them but expose the cracks further.
He wanted peace. Yet every time he looked at her, he saw a woman who had survived poison, betrayal, and despair—and who now carried something heavier than grief.
Selene, however, saw the banquet differently. If for Theodore, it was a trial, then to her, it was an opportunity.
A golden one at that.
The imperial family's intervention meant visibility. It meant eyes upon her, ears tuned to her words, and rivals underestimating her because she appeared fragile, pitiful, and harmless.
She had already learned that pitiful women were dangerous when they stopped crying. Now, she intended to prove it.
The banquet would be her stage. The moment where she could begin to weave her plans—subtly. A smile here, a word there, a gesture that seemed innocent but planted seeds of doubt and intrigue.
Theodore believed they would walk into the hall as partners to show that they are healing. Selene knew they would walk in as actors on a stage, and she was ready to play her role until the empire itself leaned closer to listen.
"So what do you intend to do?" Theodore said, his expression showing complex emotions.
Selene was now showing interest in something that wouldn't make their conversation a loop. He seemed to notice this and wanted to accept whatever she wanted, although reluctant.
"I'll go. I can't be someone easy to forget, or do you want that for me?" She spoke with a tinge of sarcasm. A tender reproach here and there, and he folds, bending to her will.
This was the pattern to keep a man wrapped around your fingers.
She noticed the reluctance in his eyes, and doubled down even more. "So, even you think I'm not worth standing by your side?"
The room was filled with an uncomfortable, cold silence.
She patiently waited for his answer, knowing fully he ought to surrender his choices. Theodore pondered for a little before answering.
She succeeded.
After the fruitful exchange, Selene offered a wry smile. Not long after, Theodore's aide knocked, requesting his presence.
After he left, Selene finally felt that she could breathe easily. A small part of her felt repulsed at his presence, albeit his touch, his gaze—everything about him.
But she couldn't afford to falter now.
Because there was a part of her that she would never acknowledge or name. She hated that feeling, like a parasite likely to infect everything else around it if left unattended.
Forgiveness and chances didn't belong to the list of things she would do.
She rose gracefully, shawl slipping from her shoulders, her silhouette framed by the fading light.
"Plans?" she murmured. "I'll bloom when the time is right."
After all, the serpent coils in silence before it strikes.
"My lord, a disruption has come up within the territory—I best believe this ought to be resolved immediately; hence, I apologize for intruding." His aide started.
He explained the situation in a worried tone, causing Theodore to listen intently, neglecting other matters at hand.
Theodore dismissed his aide with a nod, but the words lingered: "Bandit robberies are spreading in the northern reaches of Lancaster. Merchants are refusing to pass through...the people are growing restless."
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, mind already dissecting the problem.
Banditry was not just theft—it was erosion. Erosion of trust in his rule, erosion of trade, erosion of Lancaster's standing among the nobility.
A rash man would send soldiers immediately, crush the bandits with steel, and declare victory. But Theodore was not rash. He was a duke, and dukes did not simply fight—they calculated.
Theodore's lips curved faintly. Yes, the bandits were a nuisance—but they were also an opportunity. If handled correctly, he could turn a weakness into a weapon.
He summoned his aide again.
"Send word to the northern villages. Promise protection. Patrols will be doubled, but only in the most vulnerable routes. Make sure the merchants know Lancaster guards its own. And quietly, spread word that the bandits are cowards who prey on the weak. Let the people despise them."
The aide bowed, but Theodore wasn't finished.
"And prepare a report for the banquet. I will present Lancaster's plight before the imperial family. If they wish to see us united, let them."
When the aide departed, Theodore sat alone, staring at the parchment of summons once more.
His plan was sound, his reasoning flawless as always. Yet beneath the confidence, a quiet unease gnawed at him. Selene had agreed to attend the banquet.
Theodore trusted his own schemes. But his wife's?
He feared hers were far sharper than his. Maybe because it finally dawned on him that he never truly knew his wife—and what she could be capable of.