A Brewing Storm
Three days after the broken engagement, the Valmor estate sat under a restless sky.
Storm clouds boiled on the horizon, casting the gardens in eerie, shifting light. The heavy scent of rain mingled with the last of the spring blooms, making the air thick and oppressive.
Selene stood on the balcony of her chambers, watching the approaching storm with a smile.
It was fitting.
Perfect, even.
A storm was coming to the noble court as well.
And she would be its architect.
The Invitation
A knock came at the door.
Elena entered, her hands trembling slightly as she held out a scroll sealed in wax.
"My lady," she said, voice tight. "An invitation... from Lady Amelia."
Selene took the scroll carefully, her pulse quickening.
Breaking the seal, she read:
"Dear Lady Selene,
It would be such a comfort to gather in friendship after recent... difficult events. I am hosting a small, private garden party. It would honor me greatly if you attended.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Amelia DuCroix"
Selene's smile sharpened.
The spider invites the fly.
Amelia wanted to control the narrative.
She wanted to show the court that there was no enmity between them — to portray herself as gracious, innocent, blameless.
If Selene refused the invitation, she would seem bitter and petty.
If she attended, she risked walking into a trap.
Selene laughed quietly to herself.
How delightful.
"I will attend," she told Elena.
"And make sure the garden knows exactly whose thorns to fear."
The Garden of Lies
The DuCroix estate was all pastel beauty and shallow smiles.
The gardens were in full bloom — peonies, roses, tulips — a riot of color designed to impress. Servants moved like shadows, refilling glasses of sparkling wine and offering delicate cakes dusted with sugar.
The noble ladies had dressed for war disguised as fashion — layers of lace, towering hairstyles, subtle glances sharp as daggers.
Selene arrived precisely one hour after the party began.
Late enough to command attention.
Her gown was stark white, simple but cut to perfection — like a sword hidden in plain sight.
As she descended the steps into the garden, the chatter dulled. Heads turned. Fans fluttered.
Selene met every gaze head-on, cool and unafraid.
Lady Amelia stood at the far end of the garden, surrounded by simpering debutantes. Her dress was a confection of pale pink silk and tiny pearl buttons, her hair curled just so. She looked like the very picture of innocent sweetness.
Selene's stomach twisted with dark amusement.
If only they knew.
Amelia spotted her and lit up with a too-bright smile.
"Lady Selene!" she called, waving her over like an old friend. "I'm so glad you came!"
Selene glided forward.
"And miss such a lovely gathering?" she said smoothly. "Impossible."
Amelia curtsied, all grace and false sincerity.
The two women kissed each other's cheeks lightly — a performance for their audience.
And the dance began.
The First Strike
As the party settled into its rhythm — ladies gossiping under the rose trellises, gentlemen murmuring over wine — Selene began her true work.
She moved easily between groups, her smile gentle, her words seemingly innocent.
Small seeds, planted with precision.
"Such a lovely party," she said to the Marchioness of Averne. "Though... I did hear the DuCroix estate's finances have been... strained lately. Hosting such a grand affair must have been quite the burden."
A murmur of concern.
Later, to Lady Vivienne:
"I wonder where Lady Amelia found the funds for such rare wines. I suppose her new 'friends' at court are very generous...?"
A raise of an eyebrow.
And to Sir Corvan, a minor lord with a love of gossip:
"I did notice some of Lady Amelia's maids seem rather new. One even wore the crest of House Vance. Curious, isn't it? House Vance has always been so... selective about their servants."
Each word soft, plausible, impossible to trace.
By the time Selene returned to Amelia's side, the garden hummed with low, poisonous curiosity.
The Trap Springs
Amelia, oblivious, linked her arm through Selene's as they strolled by a fountain.
"I was so afraid you would hate me," Amelia said sweetly, her voice dripping with fake sorrow. "After Damon... you must have been heartbroken."
Selene turned to her, smiling gently.
"Hate you?" she said, her voice pure silk. "Why, Amelia. I could never hate you."
A pause.
Then she added, loud enough for nearby ears to catch:
"After all, you're such a dear, loyal friend. I'm sure you would never involve yourself with Damon behind my back."
Amelia's steps faltered — just slightly.
Selene pressed on, innocent as a lamb.
"I've always admired your... discretion. Especially regarding affairs of the heart."
The ladies nearby leaned in slightly, pretending not to eavesdrop.
Amelia's face paled beneath her powder.
She realized too late:
Selene had turned the entire garden into a court of judgment.
The Storm Breaks
As the first rumble of thunder echoed across the sky, Selene slipped away to the refreshment table, leaving Amelia stranded amid a sea of sharp, smiling faces.
The storm broke above them, rain spattering down in fat, cold drops.
The party dissolved into chaos — ladies shrieking, servants scrambling, umbrellas snapping open.
Selene stood under a rose arbor, untouched, as the garden around her dissolved into panic.
And as she watched Amelia struggle to maintain her mask under the weight of whispered questions, Selene smiled.
The first blow had been struck.
A Letter in the Dark
That night, back at the Valmor estate, Selene sat by candlelight, writing carefully on fine vellum.
A letter — unsigned, untraceable — to the Duchess of Vance.
"My lady, it pains me to hear rumors that your trusted servants have found new employment... in the service of certain ambitious young women at court. I thought it only right to inform you, lest your House's reputation suffer by association."
She sealed it with a simple black wax stamp — the mark of a concerned citizen.
No accusations.
No open war.
Just seeds.
Seeds that would grow into vines.
And vines that would strangle.
Selene leaned back, smiling to herself.
One victory wasn't enough.
But it was a start.
She had five years.
And she was done playing fair.