The dawn after the Spring Court Festival was quiet, almost deceptively so. Birds sang across Avalora's palace gardens, their songs a delicate contrast to the storm that had been planted the night before. The nobles who had attended whispered of Lady Seraphina's return long after the music faded, their voices still trailing in the corridors like echoes. Some had marveled at her poise, others had questioned her intentions, but all had agreed on one truth—Seraphina Valmoré had become impossible to ignore.
Seraphina herself lingered at her vanity table, gazing into the polished silver mirror. Her violet eyes stared back at her, sharp and unyielding. Once, she had seen in this mirror a young woman desperate to be loved, desperate to please. Now, she saw only a survivor with a mind sharpened by betrayal. She brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face and exhaled slowly.
Mariette, her loyal maid, fussed behind her. "My lady, word has already spread through the servants' quarters. They say Prince Kael himself spoke to you for more than a moment. That alone is enough to stir the court into frenzy."
Seraphina's lips curved faintly. "Let them talk. Kael Drakoria is a man who thrives on fear. If my presence unsettles him, it will unsettle others as well."
"But what of Lady Evelyne?" Mariette asked cautiously, lowering her voice. "She was pale by the festival's end. If she feels threatened, she may act rashly."
"She will," Seraphina said calmly, rising to her feet. Her gown of deep indigo brushed against the polished floor as she moved to the balcony. "That is what makes her dangerous. But desperation breeds mistakes, and I will be watching for them."
As she gazed out, she saw a figure below in the gardens—Prince Kael, his dark cloak draped across broad shoulders as he walked with military precision. He paused briefly, as though sensing her eyes, and glanced up. Their gazes met. For a heartbeat, neither looked away. Then he turned and continued on, leaving her breath quickened, her resolve sharper than ever.
Later that morning, Seraphina made her way to the library, a vast chamber of gilded shelves and towering ladders where Avalora's most precious histories and records were kept. Few nobles bothered with it, preferring gossip to knowledge, which made it the perfect place for her to gather information. She traced her fingers across the spines of books, recalling from her past life which decrees and alliances had sealed her fate.
It was there she heard the measured footsteps. She turned to find Crown Prince Lucien entering, his golden hair catching the light like a halo, his emerald eyes brimming with that same insufferable charm.
"Seraphina," he said smoothly, his tone carrying false warmth. "How unexpected to find you here. Shouldn't you be preparing gowns and jewels for the season's gatherings? That was always your strength, was it not?"
Her jaw tightened, but she forced her voice into silk. "Knowledge, Your Highness, is a gown that never fades. I should think even a future king might value that."
Lucien's smile flickered, his arrogance pricked. He stepped closer, lowering his tone. "You speak boldly for one who was spared disgrace only by Avalora's mercy. Do not mistake Evelyne's generosity for your own worth."
There it was—the knife he always wielded, cloaked in charm. But this time Seraphina did not bleed. She met his eyes with unflinching calm. "Mercy?" she echoed softly. "No, Your Highness. Avalora has never been merciful. It rewards those who manipulate well, and punishes those who do not. I have learned my lesson."
Lucien's lips parted, but before he could retort, Kael's voice cut across the silence. "Your Highness," the Prince of Shadows said as he entered, his tone respectful yet edged with steel. "I was told you would be meeting with the council at this hour."
Lucien stiffened, annoyance flashing in his emerald eyes. He gave Seraphina one last look—half warning, half dismissal—before striding out.
Kael remained, his storm-gray eyes resting on her. "You enjoy provoking him," he said flatly.
"Only as much as he enjoys provoking me," Seraphina replied, gathering a book from the shelf.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Then Kael stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. "You walk a dangerous path, Lady Seraphina. Lucien is not a man who forgets slights."
"And you, Prince Kael?" she asked, tilting her head. "Do you forget slights? Or do you bury them until they serve you?"
His lips twitched, almost a smile, though his eyes remained sharp. "Perhaps you are not the foolish girl I was led to believe."
"Perhaps," she echoed.
Their eyes held, the weight of two predators circling yet unready to strike. It was Evelyne's laugh echoing down the corridor that shattered the moment. She appeared in a sweep of pastel silk, her golden hair glowing like sunlight. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of them standing together, and though her lips smiled, her gaze betrayed the storm beneath.
"My sister," Evelyne cooed, her voice honeyed, "what fortune brings you here? And with Prince Kael, no less. How quickly you weave yourself into important company."
Seraphina smiled, her tone smooth as glass. "Fortune has always been fickle, Evelyne. One never knows who it will favor next."
Evelyne's hand tightened on her jeweled fan, her angelic expression straining. Kael, meanwhile, remained silent, his gaze flicking between the two sisters as though assessing the battlefield.
That night, alone in her chambers, Seraphina painted by candlelight, her brushstrokes swift and precise. It was the one passion she had always kept hidden, the art that grounded her in moments of chaos. Tonight, she painted Evelyne's face—not as the angelic beauty the world adored, but as the serpent she truly was, coiled and waiting to strike.
She paused, her brush trembling slightly. The war between them was escalating. The pieces were moving. And for the first time, Seraphina felt the thrill of power in her veins.
This time, she would not be the pawn. This time, she would be the hand that moved the pieces.