Duke Gravenor spotted them first.
Seraphina felt his eyes on her before she saw him. She and Caelan were stumbling back through the dawn light, magical exhaustion weighing down every step. Two days of ward work had drained them both.
"Duchess Vessant." Gravenor's voice carried across the camp. "Duke Vorenthal."
They stopped. No choice but to face whatever came next.
Gravenor approached with that calculating look she'd learned to recognize. His magical senses were reading them both. The power signatures clinging to their clothes. The residual energy from completed ward work.
"The demon scouts can't penetrate D'Lorien territory anymore," he said quietly. "Your work?"
Seraphina met his eyes. "What makes you think that?"
"Because my men tried to cross the boundary an hour ago. The barriers are stronger than anything we've seen." His gaze moved between them. "That level of magic doesn't happen by accident."
Caelan's hand found her elbow. Steady. Supporting.
"My second-in-command took a demon blade to the chest last night," Gravenor said suddenly. "Punctured lung. Internal bleeding. Lady Seraphina spent the night saving his life with her healing abilities."
The lie came out smooth as silk. Perfect cover story delivered without her asking.
"That's where you were," Gravenor continued, his voice carrying military authority. "Healing my man. Kept you both busy for hours."
Seraphina felt relief flood through her. "How is he now?"
"Stable. Thanks to you." Gravenor's eyes held understanding. "I owe you another debt."
The walk back to camp felt less dangerous with Gravenor's protection. But Seraphina knew the real test was coming.
Alaric was waiting.
Her husband sat propped against pillows in the medical tent. Bandages wrapped his ribs. His face was pale but his eyes were sharp.
"My darling wife." His voice carried just enough warmth to sound loving. "Where have you been?"
"Saving Duke Gravenor's second-in-command," she said simply. "Demon blade nearly killed him."
Alaric's gaze flicked to Gravenor, who nodded confirmation.
"Punctured lung," Gravenor said. "Without the duchess's healing abilities, we would have lost a good man."
"How generous of you to help," Alaric said. But something cold flickered in his eyes. "And Duke Vorenthal assisted?"
"Security," Caelan replied. "The healing work required focus. Someone needed to watch for demon activity."
Plausible. Professional. Nothing Alaric could object to without seeming petty.
"Well then." Alaric's smile looked genuine enough. "I suppose we're all grateful for your dedication to the coalition."
But Seraphina caught the way his fingers tightened on the blanket. The suspicion wasn't gone. Just buried.
"You'll need to return to Vessant manor," Caelan said. "Those ribs need proper rest."
"I can manage a few more days in the field."
"No." Caelan's voice carried medical authority. "Internal injuries like that need bed rest. Real beds, not camp cots."
Alaric's jaw tightened. He didn't want to leave. Didn't want to lose oversight of his wife's activities.
"I'll escort you personally," Caelan continued. "Make sure you're settled properly."
Smart. Remove Alaric from the situation while looking helpful.
"That's very kind," Seraphina said with perfect wifely gratitude. "I would feel better knowing you're properly cared for."
The perfect performance. Concerned wife wanting her husband safe.
Alaric had no choice but to agree.
Two hours later, she watched Caelan help her husband into a carriage. Their eyes met briefly. A promise passed between them.
He'd be back for the gala.
"Touching scene," Evelyne's voice came from behind her.
Seraphina turned. Her cousin stood watching the carriage disappear with predatory interest.
"My husband's health comes first," Seraphina said evenly.
"Of course. Such devotion." Evelyne's smile was sharp. "Though I notice Duke Vorenthal seems equally devoted to your husband's recovery."
Fishing. Looking for cracks in the story.
"Coalition members protect each other," Seraphina replied. "As you said, touching."
Evelyne circled closer. "You look tired, cousin. Long night?"
"Long doesn't begin to cover it," Seraphina replied.
"Naturally. Though some might wonder why you didn't return to your own tent until dawn."
Direct attack. Evelyne was pushing for reaction.
"Because healing work doesn't follow convenient schedules," Duke Gravenor's voice cut in. "The duchess stayed until my man was stable. Professional dedication."
Evelyne's smile faltered slightly. Gravenor's military authority carried weight she couldn't easily challenge.
"Of course," she said sweetly. "How fortunate your man had such skilled care available."
"Indeed." Gravenor's tone suggested the conversation was over.
Evelyne drifted away, but her eyes promised this wasn't finished.
"Thank you," Seraphina said quietly.
"Life debts demand protection," Gravenor replied. "But we should talk. Later."
The rest of the day blurred past in preparation. The gala was tonight. Everything had to be perfect.
Yona worked miracles with cosmetics. Concealing the exhaustion that lived in Seraphina's bones. Smoothing away the evidence of two days spent channeling raw magic.
"The sapphire silk," Yona decided. "It matches your eyes and hides how pale you are."
Liora coordinated the final details. Guest lists. Seating arrangements. Security protocols that looked like hospitality.
"Marcus Branthorne confirmed his attendance," she reported. "Along with his pledge announcement."
Fifty thousand gold. The culmination of months of careful work.
"Excellent." Seraphina tried to feel satisfied instead of anxious.
The gown was perfection. Deep sapphire silk that flowed like water, though it itched at the neckline. She'd have to resist tugging at it all evening. Sleeves that covered the faint magical burns on her arms. A neckline that suggested elegance rather than desperation.
Yona twisted her hair into an elaborate arrangement. Pearl pins caught the light. Subtle cosmetics made her look radiant instead of drained.
"You look like a queen," Yona said softly.
Seraphina stared at her reflection. The duchess in the mirror looked untouchable. Powerful. Nothing like the exhausted woman who'd stumbled back from ward work at dawn.
Perfect armor for tonight's performance.
The scent of expensive perfume and wine filled the ballroom. Conversations buzzed around her like insects. Nobles in their finest clothes streamed through the entrance.
Seraphina took her position near the doorway. Greeting each guest with practiced grace. The perfect hostess welcoming supporters to her charitable work.
But her eyes kept searching for one face.
"Duchess Vessant." Marcus Branthorne appeared before her with a smile that seemed genuine. "Thank you for including me in tonight's celebration."
"Lord Branthorne. The pleasure is entirely mine."
But something felt off. His smile was too perfect. His eyes too bright.
"I'm looking forward to making my announcement," he continued. "Such important work deserves recognition."
Before she could respond, Evelyne materialized at his side.
"Cousin!" Evelyne's greeting was warm honey over sharp blades. "What a lovely gathering you've arranged."
"Thank you." Seraphina kept her voice level. "I hope you'll enjoy the evening."
"Oh, I'm certain I will." Evelyne's hand found Marcus's arm. "Lord Branthorne and I were just discussing the wonderful impact charitable work can have."
The way she said it made Seraphina's skin crawl. But Marcus smiled and nodded like he'd found religion.
"Indeed. Lady Evelyne has such insights into philanthropic efforts."
Seraphina watched them move into the ballroom together. Evelyne's hand never left Marcus's arm.
Charm magic. It had to be.
"Duchess." Duke Gravenor appeared beside her. "Impressive turnout."
"Yes. Very gratifying to see such support."
"Some support comes with complications," he said quietly. "We should discuss strategies for managing unexpected developments."
Before she could ask what he meant, commotion near the entrance caught her attention.
Caelan strode through the doorway like he owned the world.
Despite the rush back from Vessant manor, he looked breathtaking. Black formal wear tailored to perfection. Hair swept back with military precision. The elegant half-mask that somehow made him more magnetic instead of hidden.
Every conversation in the entrance hall paused. Women turned to stare. Men assessed a potential rival.
He moved through the crowd with predatory grace. All controlled power and dangerous elegance.
Their eyes met across the room.
The connection hit her like lightning. Even surrounded by people, even playing roles, the bond between them pulsed with recognition.
He reached her position with deliberate steps.
"Duchess Vessant." His voice carried just the right mixture of respect and warmth. "I apologize for my delayed arrival."
"Duke Vorenthal." She let gratitude color her tone. "I'm so pleased you could join us. How is my husband?"
"Resting comfortably at Vessant manor. The physicians are optimistic about his recovery."
"Thank goodness. I can never express how grateful I am for your quick action in saving his life."
The perfect performance. The devoted wife thanking her husband's heroic rescuer.
But under the formal words, electricity crackled between them.
"Any decent man would have done the same," he replied. "Though I'm honored by your gratitude."
His eyes held hers a heartbeat longer than proper. Just enough to make her breath catch.
"The evening should prove interesting," he continued. "I understand Lord Branthorne plans to make an announcement."
"Yes. A very generous pledge to our charitable work."
"Generous indeed." Something flickered in Caelan's expression. "I hope the evening proceeds as you've planned."
Before she could ask what that meant, Marcus's voice rang out across the ballroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention."
The conversations died. All eyes turned toward the small stage at the far end of the room.
Marcus stood in the spotlight. Evelyne positioned nearby, close enough to offer silent support.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering tonight," Marcus began. "There has been considerable talk in the town recently about my interest in this charitable gala. I felt it important to address that directly."
His voice carried across the silent ballroom. Every guest hanging on his words.
"The importance of charity work cannot be overstated. Those who give to the poor, who support the disadvantaged, who dedicate themselves to lifting others up deserve our highest respect."
Polite murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"Which brings me to why I'm here tonight." Marcus paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "There have been rumors circulating that I will be pledging fifty thousand gold to Duchess Vessant's charitable organization."
The room fell completely silent. Every eye turned toward Seraphina.
Marcus looked directly at her. Smiled.
Then turned to Evelyne. Smiled at her too.
"Those rumors?" Marcus paused, letting the word hang in the air. "Not true."
He let the silence stretch. Every eye in the ballroom fixed on Seraphina.
Evelyne's hand tightened on his arm, her smile spreading like poison honey.
Finally, she thought with savage satisfaction. This will ruin her.