Seraphine didn't see Alaric at breakfast.
A maid politely informed her that "His Grace had business in the war chamber" and would not return until afternoon. But when she passed the corridor near the eastern wing, she saw the doors to the solarium cracked open.
Inside, the tea set was still there. Two untouched cups. The moon pendant's velvet pouch lay in the center of the table—forgotten or perhaps deliberately left behind.
Her heart tightened.
She closed the door without entering.
Later that afternoon, as she took a walk along the garden path lined with white roses, she spotted Caveen Landon again—Alaric's trusted friend and the only man she sensed was not human but didn't fear.
He leaned casually against a tree, watching her with a knowing smile.
"So," he said, "I heard from a little bird that the cold Duke Vaelthorne actually smiled last night."
Seraphine flushed. "You're mistaken."
Caveen grinned wider. "Am I?"
"I should return—"
"Don't be afraid, Lady Seraphine," he said, gently blocking her path. "Alaric may be terrifying to most, but he's not heartless. He just guards his heart like it's the only piece of him left untouched."
She frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because he's my friend. And because something is coming. A storm. And when it hits, he'll need someone by his side who isn't afraid of what he is."
Seraphine's chest tightened again. "And what… is he?"
Caveen smiled softly, but his eyes darkened. "More than you know. More than you're ready to know."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her in the breeze, clutching the pendant to her chest again.
The morning sun filtered through golden drapes as noblewomen gathered inside Lady Merisse's drawing room, their voices sweet but sharp as blades.
"The Duchess of Bellmore said she saw it herself," whispered Lady Helene, leaning in with a cup of floral tea. "Duke Alaric took her hand and glared at Celestine like she was a stray cat scratching his bride."
"I nearly fainted," Lady Viella chimed in. "That man has rejected fifteen noble daughters, including two princesses! And now he defends an orphan maid like she's made of gold?"
They tittered behind their fans.
"She must have put a spell on him," someone muttered.
"Or maybe she's a secret witch," said another with a grin. "Those eyes of hers…"
"Pale blue like ice," Lady Merisse added, "and that hair. Ash like moonlight. Too otherworldly to be plain."
The laughter rippled.
But in a different salon—darker, colder—Lady Jane Delacroix smashed her porcelain cup against the marble floor.
"She humiliated this family."
Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling.
"To be favored like that—in front of every family who ever doubted Celestine—Seraphine will ruin everything."
Celestine sat silently, her lips drawn tight.
"Mark my words," Lady Jane hissed, "that girl will not stand tall for long. I'll see to it myself."
---
Back at the War chamber, the garden had grown still with the falling evening.
Alaric stood at the edge of the eastern balcony, his eyes fixed on the horizon, jaw set as though wrestling an invisible war inside himself.
"Still brooding, I see."
He didn't turn. "You always appear when I least desire company."
Caveen Landon stepped beside him, holding two crystal tumblers—one he offered.
"You're welcome," he said with a smirk.
Alaric took the drink with a low sigh. "Why are you here?"
"I needed a break from the capital. And your estate is far more peaceful than mine." Caveen sipped, eyes dancing. "That, and I couldn't resist coming after what I saw."
Alaric stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know," Caveen grinned wider, "two souls bathed in moonlight, an unexpected kiss, a silent garden… how very poetic of you, old friend."
Alaric turned slowly, a single brow raised. "You saw?"
"Clear as daylight," Caveen said. "I was looking for you that night. Thought you were alone."
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "You were spying?"
"I was walking," Caveen corrected, teasing. "And I stayed quiet. Be grateful."
A beat passed.
"You kissed her, Alaric," Caveen said more softly. "And you didn't look like you regretted it."
Alaric remained silent, the wind brushing through his black coat. He didn't deny it.
Caveen added, "You've spent years shutting people out, refusing even warmth. But when she looked at you…" He paused, searching his friend's profile. "You looked back."
Alaric finally spoke, voice low. "She's not ready."
"Neither are you," Caveen said, "but that's not stopping your heart."
Alaric's gaze dropped to the glass in his hand.
"She's different," he admitted. "She brings… quiet. Peace. Yet I fear what will happen if she learns the truth."
"She'll handle it," Caveen said. "She's stronger than she knows. And so are you."
He clapped Alaric on the shoulder. "Besides, it's about time someone melted that frozen chest of yours."
Alaric scoffed, but his lips curled faintly.
"And if she kisses you again," Caveen added with a wink, "maybe next time, I'll announce myself."
"Do that," Alaric said flatly, "and I'll feed you to the wyverns."
"Fair."
They both stood there for a while longer—two powerful beings, one finally on the edge of change, the other simply grateful to see his old friend awaken to something that resembled love.