I met Prince Kael again three days later—behind closed doors, under the vaulted ceiling of the Solar Room, a place usually reserved for royal mediation and elegant betrayal. The tapestries showed battles from a golden age no one remembered, and the sun filtering through the stained-glass windows painted the floor in blood and fire.
Fitting.
Kael stood near the hearth, posture lazy, but that golden gaze—like coin sharpened to a blade—never wavered. His ceremonial sword hung at his side, polished and unnecessary. A statement piece.
"So," he drawled without turning. "You've found your spine, Lady Vale."
I shut the door behind me, calmly. "If I ever misplaced it, Your Highness, I assure you it's only because I had to bend so low to kiss royal boots."
He turned at that—just enough for his mouth to twitch.
A smirk? A flinch? Hard to tell with this one.
"I should have known you'd cause a scene," he said. "You've embarrassed the court, insulted my honor, and made Elira cry."
"Cry?" I blinked. "Over not being poisoned? How delicate."
That earned a full turn and a sharp glare. "You were meant to play your part, Seraphina."
Ah. There it was.
He didn't expect me to be me. He expected the snide, passive-aggressive girl who clung to him at galas and threatened maids behind fans. He wanted the villainess that the story had already condemned.
Instead, he had me. A woman who'd negotiated billion-dollar mergers before breakfast and walked out of boardrooms with men three times her salary crawling for second chances.
I stepped closer.
"No more parts, Your Highness," I said. "Let's speak plainly."
He watched me warily.
"Someone tried to poison the wine at our engagement banquet," I continued. "It wasn't me. You drank it yourself—you know that. Yet no investigation has been opened. Why?"
His expression didn't shift. Not even a blink.
"I see," I said. "So the court would rather I fall on the sword to preserve the illusion of harmony."
"You're not blameless," Kael said quietly.
"No," I agreed. "But I'm not stupid. And neither are you."
A pause.
Then: "You speak as though you know what's coming."
Oh, I do, I thought. But I smiled instead. "Let's just say I'm tired of being underestimated."
Kael folded his arms. "Then what exactly do you want, Lady Vale?"
Everything.
But I didn't say that.
I said, "A truce. For now. I'll play the cold-hearted fiancée in public if you stop throwing me to the wolves behind closed doors. And in return, I'll keep the nobles distracted and the court guessing."
He raised a brow. "And why would I trust you?"
"Because I'm the devil they already know," I said. "Better to have me at your side than at your throat."
Kael stared at me for a long moment, the air thick with calculation. Then he stepped closer—just enough for me to catch the scent of steel and citrus.
"You've changed," he said.
I smiled. "Or maybe I just stopped pretending."
He didn't answer right away. Then finally: "Very well. A truce. But only until the Harvest Festival."
My heart skipped.
That's the deadline. The moment she's framed and executed.
Three months.
"I'll take it," I said, offering my hand like a contract sealed in silence.
Kael took it, his grip firm and warm.
"May the gods have mercy on anyone who gets between us," he murmured.
And then he left, cape trailing behind him like a war banner.
I exhaled slowly.
First checkmate complete.
Now to build the board in my favor.
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