Seraphina pressed her fingertips against her temples. The headache wouldn't stop. Seven days until trials, and her magic felt unstable. Dangerous.
"The patisserie network," she said, keeping her voice steady. "Daily customers from every social class. Servants getting morning bread, nobles ordering cakes, merchants arranging catering."
Liora leaned forward, quill ready. "More comprehensive than the dress shop network we first considered."
"Much more." Magic sparked across Seraphina's palm without warning. She closed her fist, forcing control. "A seamstress serves rich women sometimes. A baker feeds everyone daily."
The idea had come during another sleepless night, magic crackling under her skin. People needed food constantly. Predictably. Without question.
"The head baker runs our intelligence," she continued. "Early shifts mean overnight information gathering. Delivery routes give access across the city. Catering provides entry to private events."
"Perfect cover," Liora said.
"Perfect cover." Seraphina traced trade routes on the map. Her finger left faint magical marks on the paper. Another bad sign she ignored. "Counter staff hear daily conversations. Delivery workers observe household routines. The baker coordinates everything."
Liora set down her quill. "Finding someone will be difficult. Culinary skills plus strategic intelligence."
"Plus trustworthy enough for sensitive information. Experienced enough to manage staff without suspicion." The headache sharpened. "Someone who knows flour and secrets need the same careful handling."
Her magic pulsed wrong. Erratic. Demanding. Seven days felt too long and not enough time.
"I'll research candidates," Liora said. "Commercial properties, struggling bakeries, qualified bakers seeking opportunities."
"Do it quietly. No... quieter than that. We can't afford attention before we're ready."
As Liora gathered her notes, Seraphina closed her eyes. Tried to center herself. The magic wouldn't settle. It wanted release. Demanded attention. Whispered that time was running out.
------
Alaric stared at blank paper. Ink bled where his pen lingered too long. Three failed attempts already.
Dearest Seraphina,
I hope this finds you well. I've been thinking of you constantly...
He crumpled it. Too desperate.
My dear wife,
I trust your affairs progress successfully. I miss your presence...
Another failure. Too formal.
Fresh paper. He wrote without overthinking.
Seraphina,
I miss you. The estate feels empty without your intelligence and grace. I know you're handling important family business, but I hoped to visit soon. Perhaps we could walk through your father's gardens again, like when we were first married.
I took those moments for granted. I won't make that mistake again.
Your devoted husband,Alaric
Simple. Honest. Desperate, yes, but honestly desperate.
He sealed the letter fast, before he could second-guess. Too fast. Calling for his fastest messenger anyway. She was handling family business at the D'Lorien estate. Hopefully she'd be pleased to hear from him.
The thought of seeing her again, maybe earning one of those real smiles he'd started treasuring, made his chest tight.
She was changing him. Already had. He needed her to know... no, she deserved to know.
----
"My lord." Garrett, his spymaster, entered Caelan's study carefully. The kind of steps reserved for delivering damage. "Intelligence from the D'Lorien estate network."
Caelan didn't look up from correspondence he wasn't reading. Three days of reports about Seraphina's condition, her preparations. Anything to feel connected to the woman who'd cut their bond completely.
"What is it?"
"Duke Alaric sent a letter. To Lady Seraphina. Jorin's report confirms the details."
Physical blow. Caelan's hands stopped on the paper. "What kind of letter?"
"Personal. Says he misses her. Requesting permission to visit the D'Lorien estate."
"And?" His voice stayed steady despite his chest imploding.
"Forwarded to her current location through our network. Discreetly, like all D'Lorien correspondence."
Caelan set down the letter he'd been pretending to read. Alaric missed her. Was reaching out, asking to see her. While she wouldn't even let Caelan apologize.
"Her husband misses her." A pause. Then, lower: "Her actual husband."
"My lord... "
"No." Caelan stood, moving to the window. Rain had been falling four straight days. "He has every right. They're married. They live together. She's his wife."
The bond stayed cold where warmth should pulse. She'd let him share her strategies, her network, her soul. But she'd never really been his. Had she?
"I'm a duke helping a duchess with political maneuvering. He's her husband missing his wife." The admission tasted bitter. "There's a difference."
Garrett stayed silent.
Caelan pressed his forehead against cool glass. Somewhere, Seraphina was reading a letter from the man she married. The man who shared her name, her home, her official future.
The man who had the right to miss her.
The thought stung. Cut deep. Made his chest ache in ways the bond's absence couldn't touch.
-----
Evelyne moved through Marcus's estate with purpose. Her silk dress chosen for what she intended tonight. The charity plan was working, but she needed his complete devotion. Physical intimacy would cement the magical connection. Make him even more controllable.
She found him in his study, working late. Candlelight across his features as she entered without knocking.
"Working again?" she asked, voice carrying disapproval designed to capture attention.
Marcus looked up. That dreamy, devoted expression she'd grown used to. "Evelyne. I wasn't expecting you tonight."
"I missed you." She moved behind his chair, hands on his shoulders. "You've been generous with your time, your resources. I wanted to show appreciation."
Her fingers found tension in his neck. Marcus leaned into the touch, eyes closing.
"You don't need to thank me," he said. "Everything I have is yours."
Perfect. The charm held deeper than hoped.
Evelyne leaned down, lips at his ear. "I want to give you something special tonight. Show you how much your loyalty means."
She moved to face him, fingers along his jaw. Marcus's breathing changed, pupils dilating beyond magical compulsion.
"Evelyne..."
"Let me take care of you." She settled on his lap, dress arranging around them both. "Let me show you real appreciation."
Marcus's hands rose to her waist, pulling her closer. She felt his pulse quicken, saw genuine desire merge with magical compulsion.
She leaned in for a kiss. He met her halfway with obvious hunger.
A sharp knock interrupted.
"Master Marcus?" The butler's voice through the door. "Forgive the interruption, but urgent development with the mining contracts."
Marcus tensed. "Mining contracts?"
"The Kavanaugh representatives arrived unexpectedly. They demand immediate renegotiation or they'll withdraw from the consortium entirely."
She watched him hurry out. Satisfaction curdled. Annoyance prickled sharp under her skin.
Still. Business happened. Damn timing. Tomorrow, then.
-------
Seraphina read Alaric's letter twice, each word making her temples pound.
I miss you.
Walk through your father's gardens again.
I won't make that mistake again.
Something twisted in her chest. Brief. Unwanted. A traitorous flutter at his words that she crushed immediately.
No. She couldn't afford sentiment. Not now.
She set it aside too quickly. Reached for the next letter with shaking fingers.
This one bore her charitable institutions' seal. Routine report she'd normally scan and file.
One line made her pause.
Mr. Marcus Branthorne has pledged an unprecedented fifty thousand gold for the upcoming orphanage benefit. We request a meeting to discuss arrangements for the public announcement ceremony.
Fifty thousand gold. Substantial. More generous than anything Marcus had contributed before. Her strategic mind cataloged implications. Good publicity. Donor confidence. More programs... too many angles at once.
Something felt wrong, but the headache made analysis difficult.
Not now. She couldn't deal with Alaric's sudden romantic interest when her magic felt ready to tear apart and trials loomed seven days away.
Strategic thinking cut through irritation. Alaric reaching out, wanting to visit, expressing affection. This could become problematic. If he grew persistent, romantic, demanding of her time and attention...
Her thoughts went to Caelan. The white roses solution they'd discussed. Managing Alaric's advances while appearing devoted. Chemical deterrent disguised as romantic gesture.
Irony wasn't lost on her. Thinking of the man who'd betrayed her trust to solve problems created by the husband she was divorcing.
Magic sparked across her knuckles again. Stronger. More insistent.
"My lady?" Yona appeared in the doorway. "You called?"
Had she? Seraphina couldn't remember. Power instability was affecting her concentration.
"Draft a response to my husband," she said, setting the letter aside. "Polite but busy. Tell him I'm honored by his sentiment but deeply engaged in family business requiring complete attention."
"Of course. Timeline for his visit?"
"Indefinite postponement. Family obligations taking longer than expected." She paused, calculating. "Also mention that I miss him too. So much that I sometimes can't concentrate on my work. It makes the family obligations more difficult to handle."
Yona glanced up from her notes. A strategic lie to stroke his ego, keep him satisfied while maintaining distance. The kind of calculated sentiment that prevented unwanted persistence.
As Yona left, Seraphina returned to trial preparations. The magic wouldn't settle. It hummed and crackled, demanding something she couldn't identify.
Hands flat. Desk warm. Then... too hot.
Seven days until trials.
Power instability was getting worse.
Then, without warning, the vision struck.
Fire surrounded her. Not the comfortable flames she controlled. Ancient fire, wild, roaring through stone chambers carved from rock. The First Trial's location, calling across impossible distance.
Come now, the flames said. Come before it's too late. Before instability tears you apart from within.
The trials cannot wait. Your power will not wait.
Come now, or lose everything.
The vision shattered. Seraphina gasped at her desk. The wood beneath her hands bore scorch marks shaped like her palms.
Seven days... gone. No days left at all.
The trials were calling, and her magic demanded an answer she wasn't ready to give.