"Breathe," Liora whispered, fastening the final clasp at Seraphina's collar.
"I am breathing," Seraphina replied, steady as glass. "They like dolls that breathe."
The doors to the winter ballroom swung wide. Music thinned, then softened. Seraphina stepped forward, a gentle smile already arranged.
At the dais, Queen Isolde inclined her head. "Lady Seraphina. Welcome to the royal house."
Seraphina curtsied. "Your Majesty honors me."
"See that we never regret it," the Queen said, pleasant and cool.
A footstep, sure and unhurried. Prince Lucien—shoulders square, voice calm—descended the last stair and offered his arm.
"Lady Seraphina," he said, warmth touching his eyes. "I'm told you favor quiet gardens to noisy halls. Allow me to apologize on behalf of our noise."
"Noise has its uses, Your Highness," Seraphina answered easily, taking his arm. "It convinces the court happiness can be heard."
A beat of laughter rippled nearby. Someone murmured, "Composed," and another, "Perfect."
Across the room, Prince Adrien watched, jaw set. His goblet remained full. General Cassian leaned close to him.
"You could try smiling," Cassian said.
"I am smiling," Adrien replied without moving a muscle.
"Then your face and your soul have fallen out."
Adrien didn't answer. His gaze fixed on Seraphina's hand resting lightly on Lucien's sleeve.
At the foot of the dais, Lucien slowed. "Would you walk a little, my lady? The balcony is temperate."
"Of course," Seraphina said.
They turned—only to pause as a voice, clear and gentle, reached them.
"Your Majesty," Evelyne said to the King, "if the poultice is kept warm, the swelling should fall by morning. I'll come at dawn."
King Alden's deep chuckle carried. "You overwork yourself, child."
"The knight wishes to return to the joust," Evelyne replied, a hint of amusement. "He swore he would rather limp in armor than lie in a featherbed."
"And what did you advise?"
"That men should avoid proving courage with injuries that might remove the option forever."
Lucien smiled. "Lady Evelyne," he called. "You frighten our soldiers into sense."
Evelyne turned, a modest bow. "If sense is too frightened to arrive on its own, Highness, I lend it a hand."
Seraphina studied Evelyne without letting the study show. "Your reputation precedes you," she said pleasantly.
"I hope in usefulness, not spectacle," Evelyne replied.
"Usefulness is a spectacle," Seraphina murmured. "Only rarer."
Adrien appeared with the unconcern of a man who had crossed a room by accident. "Evelyne," he said, "you've already claimed the King's attention. Are you recruiting the heir as well?"
Evelyne's lips curved. "If the heir intends to take the field, he'll need a sound shoulder and a healer willing to scold him. I'm interviewing."
"Scold me?" Lucien said lightly. "I already have a mother."
"Two," Adrien said, eyes still on Seraphina. "The second stands before us with herbs and a gentle threat."
"Three," Seraphina added, tone soft as silk. "If the crown's safety truly matters, the entire court should scold princes. The city will sleep better."
Lucien laughed quietly. "We are outnumbered."
"Easily defeated," Evelyne said, and the corners of Adrien's mouth twitched despite himself.
The Queen's steward approached with a bow to Seraphina. "My lady, the duchess of Varrin begs an introduction."
Seraphina inclined her head to Lucien. "May I?"
"Later I'll steal you back," he said.
She moved with the steward, the court softening in her wake like water parted by a prow.
Cassian drifted in again near Adrien. "Thoughts?"
Adrien's eyes didn't leave Seraphina. "Pleasantries."
"And?"
"She's very good at them."
Evelyne folded her hands. "You mean she's gracious."
"I mean she lands words like pins," Adrien said. "No blood, but the sting remains."
Lucien's gaze followed Seraphina, thoughtful. "You heard only sting. I heard a woman who intends to share the crown's weight."
"And make certain everyone notices the effort," Adrien murmured.
"Is it wrong to be seen serving?" Evelyne asked, calm.
"It is wrong to be seen only serving," Adrien said. "It is… efficient to be seen serving."
Evelyne met his look. "Some of us truly wish to help."
"And some of us," Adrien returned, "truly wish to be believed."
Lucien cut in gently. "Brother, if you intend to duel rhetorically before the court, choose an easier opponent. Evelyne has already outflanked you twice."
"Once," Adrien said. "The first was a feint."
"Was it?" Evelyne asked, eyes bright with humor.
Adrien conceded the smallest smile. "Perhaps a draw."
A page bowed to Lucien. "Highness, the Queen asks that you receive Lord Marrow."
Lucien nodded. To Adrien and Evelyne: "Will you excuse me?"
Adrien waved him on. "Be dutiful."
"I try," Lucien said, and went.
Evelyne watched Lucien go, then glanced at Adrien. "You speak sharpest when you're uneasy."
"I speak sharpest when bored," Adrien replied.
"Then why are your hands tight?"
He flexed them, surprised by his own fists. "Sword practice," he said.
"You haven't touched a blade today," Evelyne answered softly.
Adrien's eyes flicked to Seraphina across the room—glitter of candlelight, a bright laugh perfectly measured. "What do you make of her?"
"Which answer do you prefer?" Evelyne asked.
"The truthful one."
"I've spoken with her only twice," Evelyne said. "She is attentive, graceful, and quick."
"And?"
Evelyne hesitated. "And careful. She chooses each word as if placing a glass on the edge of a table."
Adrien nodded once. "You see it too."
Seraphina returned sooner than expected, like a tide changing its mind. "Forgive me," she said to Evelyne. "The duchess wished to discuss charitable kitchens and made me promise to attend—twice a week."
"How generous," Evelyne said.
"How strategic," Adrien murmured.
Seraphina's gaze touched him and moved on without snagging. "If generosity and strategy can dine together, the poor may eat more than promises."
Evelyne inclined her head. "Then may your promises be plenty and your kitchens warm."
"And your patients stubborn but obedient," Seraphina returned, just a hint of play.
Evelyne's smile reached her eyes. "I accept the first. The second is fantasy."
Lucien rejoined them, the Queen's steward trailing. "Marrow speaks in paragraphs," he said softly to Seraphina. "I left him three sentences ago. If I've been rude, you must forgive me."
"Then we are twins in rudeness," Seraphina replied. "I abandoned a duchess after persuading her to work."
"Dangerous," Adrien said.
"Necessary," Seraphina answered, and this time she let her gaze meet his for a fraction longer than courtesy required.
Lucien noticed the beat, not the cause. "Adrien, would you ride with me at noon tomorrow? The roads east need inspection before the flood season."
"I'll ride," Adrien said. "If we're measuring dikes and drains, I require coffee and the promise of belligerent weather."
"You always require belligerent weather," Lucien replied. "It suits you."
Evelyne added, "I'll send travel tonics. You'll forget to eat."
"I never forget to eat," Adrien said.
"You forget to stop fighting long enough to eat," she corrected gently.
A courtier hurried to the Queen; the Queen lifted a finger, and silence rippled outward. She stood. "Our house welcomes Lady Seraphina of Deymar," Isolde announced. "May she stand as ornament and strength beside the crown."
Polite applause swelled.
Seraphina's smile lived precisely where it should. "You make me rich with expectations," she said when the Queen gestured. "I will spend them well."
Cassian murmured near Adrien, "That's a neat sentence."
Adrien didn't look away. "It's a glove with a ring sewn inside."
When the hall eased back to music, Lucien spoke low to Seraphina. "You have enemies already."
"Do I?"
"Anyone who fears expectations," he said. "I'm not among them."
"Neither am I," Seraphina replied, and she leaned just enough for the court to see harmony and for Adrien to see calculation.
Evelyne's voice, quiet: "My lady, may I ask—what do you do when the court grows too loud?"
Seraphina turned to her, thoughtful. "I plan my next kindness."
Evelyne blinked, almost smiling. "And if kindness fails?"
"Then I plan a better one," Seraphina said. "Or a sharper word that sounds like one."
Adrien's laugh was low. "There it is."
"There what is?" Seraphina asked, mild.
"The needle," he said. "Hidden in the lace."
She met his eyes without flinching. "Highness, lace is useless without thread."
"And needles are useless without blood."
"Not if they only stitch," she said. "You assume harm when you should assume craft."
Lucien stepped between their words like a bridge. "Assume dinner," he said. "We're all safer."
They ate. Talk unfolded in careful squares—council business, the river's rise, a new school in the south quarter, the wounded knight. Twice Seraphina lifted a subject that allowed someone else to shine; twice she turned praise from herself as if it weighed nothing.
When the meal ended, Seraphina said to Lucien, "You promised a quieter place."
"I did," Lucien said. "Will you permit a compromise? The north corridor has poor acoustics for gossip but excellent windows for light."
"Lead, then," she replied.
They moved away. Adrien watched them go. Evelyne remained at his side, hands folded.
"You admire her," Adrien said.
"I don't know her," Evelyne answered.
"That's an answer."
"It is," she agreed.
Cassian joined again, speaking under his breath. "If you mean to brood, do it near a wall so the room has warning."
"I'm not brooding," Adrien said.
"What would you call it?"
"Strategic observation."
Evelyne tilted her head. "And what do you observe?"
Adrien's eyes followed the curve of the corridor where Lucien and Seraphina vanished. "That my brother loves order. That the Queen loves evidence. That the court loves a story with clean edges."
"And you?" Evelyne asked.
"I," Adrien said, "love the part where the edges cut."
"Spoken like a man who still needs breakfast," Evelyne murmured. "Take the tonics anyway. You'll pretend you don't need them until you do."
He looked at her properly then, as if remembering who she was. "You're fearless with princes."
"I'm practical with patients," she replied. "Even when they refuse to admit they're bleeding."
"Am I?"
"Not yet," Evelyne said. "But you will be, if you keep pressing the edges."
He considered, then nodded once. "Send the tonics."
Across the hall, the Queen watched the three of them with the detached grace of a chess player. To the King, she said, "The elder is steady, the younger is restless, and the healer is inconveniently brave."
King Alden hummed. "And the bride?"
Isolde's eyes narrowed faintly. "We shall see whether grace is a virtue or a weapon."
In the north corridor, Lucien slowed beside the long windows. "Is the light too sharp?"
"It draws honest lines," Seraphina said.
"Good. I prefer truth."
"Truth," Seraphina answered softly, eyes gentle, "is something men swear to love until it refuses to love them back."
Lucien smiled. "Then we'll be patient with it."
"We?"
"Yes," he said simply. "You and I."
Seraphina held his gaze, perfect bride, perfect poise. Her voice was warm enough to be believed. "Then I will be patient too."
Behind them, far down the corridor, a shadow paused and turned away before it could become a man. Adrien did not follow.
Evelyne, hands folded at the gallery rail, watched the city roofs through the glass and spoke under her breath as if to no one at all: "Let this house hold together."
Liora, appearing at Seraphina's shoulder with a shawl, murmured, "My lady?"
Seraphina took the shawl. "I'm not cold."
"It is for appearance," Liora said.
"Then it's perfect," Seraphina replied, the tiniest smile curving. "Everything is."
For now.