The Dravenhart gardens were not like Evandelle's.
Where hers were sculpted into perfect symmetry — white marbles, mirrored ponds, flowers that bloomed on command — this one felt alive.
It was wild and quiet, as if the earth itself refused to be tamed. Deep emerald hedges lined winding paths, and beyond them, roses the color of dusk tangled with ivy on stone arches. The air smelled faintly of rain and iron — heavy, clean, untouched by court perfume.
Zelene sat beneath a weathered pavilion carved with Dravenhart's crest, parchment spread before her, a pen hovering above the list of noble names. Beside her, Ray stood at quiet attention, arms crossed, his shadow long against the moss-draped stones.
The list in her hand was simple enough: Guests for the Concord Gathering.
But the implications were heavier. This would be their first formal gathering as betrothed.
A political play disguised as celebration.
Beside her stood Ray — steady, silent, arms crossed behind his back. He looked strangely at ease here among the shadows of the old garden, his stance more that of a noble than a servant.
Zelene's eyes trailed down the page, murmuring, "The Houses of the Four Swords... It would be wise to invite them. They hold half the influence in the court's military faction. If they're here, it sends the right message — stability, respect, control."
Ray gave a quiet grunt that might've been agreement — or disinterest.
Zelene sighed. "You could at least pretend to care, you know."
He glanced at her, then back at the hedge. "I'm listening."
"You're pretending," she said, smirking. "But I'll take that."
He didn't reply, but she caught the flicker of dry amusement that tugged faintly at his expression.
Ray rarely spoke — one-word answers, short sentences, often blunt to a fault. But in silence, he was observant. Always scanning — not the scenery, but people. She noticed the way his gaze moved whenever someone entered the gardens, how his stance subtly shifted.
He wasn't a guard trained to stand still. He was a man trained to survive.
"Do you ever rest?" she asked, still marking names.
Ray's voice was low, even. "When it's safe."
She glanced at him, curiosity flickering behind her calm tone. "And when is that?"
He didn't answer — just met her gaze for a heartbeat before turning it back to the horizon.
Zelene almost laughed. "Right. Never."
The faintest quirk appeared at the corner of his mouth — almost imperceptible, but it was there.
The rustle of footsteps interrupted them. She looked up.
Kael Dravenhart was crossing the stone path, the morning light catching the edges of his black coat. His usual air of authority was softened by the casualness of his walk — but only just. Behind him, the distant murmur of attendants faded as he dismissed them with a gesture.
When he reached the pavilion, his gaze flicked first to the parchments scattered across the table... and then to Ray.
The air tightened.
Zelene felt it — that brief, unspoken current of appraisal between two men who didn't trust easily. Kael's expression was unreadable, but sharp. Ray, for his part, didn't flinch. He simply inclined his head and offered a precise, respectful bow.
"My lord," he said quietly.
Kael studied him for a moment longer, then turned to Zelene. "I see you're being productive this morning."
"I'm always productive," she said, closing the inkwell. "You gave me a task, I'm fulfilling it."
His gaze shifted back to Ray, lingering for a fraction too long. "And this would be?"
"My guard," Zelene replied evenly, folding her hands. "Ray. He's been assigned to my personal protection while I'm here."
Kael's expression didn't move, but the silence between them stretched — not hostile, just... assessing.
Ray stood unmoving, head slightly bowed. For a moment, it almost seemed as though Kael might question him, but he didn't.
Finally, Kael turned to Zelene, tone calm but edged. "You've made interesting choices before, Lady Evandelle. I trust this one won't be another surprise."
Zelene smiled, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Kael hummed faintly — neither approval nor warning — and shifted his attention to the parchment she'd been studying. "The Houses of the Four Swords?"
"Yes," she said, leaning forward. "They respect power, not politics. If Dravenhart wants to appear strong again, they need to see you here. With me."
Kael's gaze flickered briefly toward her, unreadable as ever. "You make it sound like a performance."
"Everything in court is a performance," Zelene murmured.
Something passed in his eyes then — a quiet acknowledgment, maybe even amusement — before he turned toward the roses climbing the nearest pillar.
Ray, still silent, watched them both. His thoughts were a quiet hum beneath his stoic face: Too calm. Too poised. Both pretending they're not testing each other.
He adjusted his stance slightly, eyes scanning the treeline again — not for threats, but for the rhythm of a moment that might break before it softened.
For all his silence, Ray was starting to understand the strange balance between the Duke and the Lady: two people wrapped in the same stillness, neither willing to be the first to move.
Kael raised a hand slightly, and moments later a servant appeared as if summoned by instinct.
"Tea," Kael instructed. "And something sweet."
Zelene's brows rose. "You drink tea?"
Kael glanced at her, the faintest edge of dry humor in his tone. "Would you rather I serve wine before noon?"
"Wouldn't be the worst idea," she muttered, sitting across from him.
The maid returned swiftly with a porcelain set — deep green with black trimming — and small plates of berry tarts and sugar-dusted pastries. Kael poured the tea himself, precise as ever, as if even hospitality was something to be conducted with military care.
Zelene watched him. He didn't rush a movement. The man could make even silence feel heavy.
"I didn't think Lord Kael had a taste for delicacies."
Kael glanced at her. "Even soldiers know the value of sugar."
When the table was set beneath an old elm, Zelene sat across from him, the steam curling from her cup like soft smoke. It felt strangely intimate, even though the silence between them was anything but.
"So," she said, breaking it, "the Four Swords. You know them well?"
Kael leaned back slightly. "Dravenhart commands armies. Evandelle commands law. Valemont commands coin. Rosewald... commands spirits, or whatever superstition they still keep."
"Rosewald's isolation gives them mystery," she said. "That alone keeps their respect."
Kael's gaze drifted to the garden beyond, his tone low. "Dravenhart has no such luxury. We only have war. And war fades fast in peace."
"That's why we're doing this," Zelene said quietly. "For people to see more than that. For them to see you differently."
He looked back at her, eyes catching the light. "And what will they see, Lady Evandelle?"
She smiled faintly, though something in it trembled. "A man who isn't afraid of the court's eyes. A man who's found someone who can stand beside him without flinching."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable — it was heavy, alive. Something unspoken passed between them, like an invisible wire strung too tight.
After a long moment, Kael reached for his tea. "You're dangerous."
Zelene tilted her head. "Because I speak the truth?"
"Because you make it sound like a weapon."
She smiled — small, secretive. "Then I suppose we'll be quite the match."
The wind stirred the parchment on the table, scattering a few petals from the elm above. Zelene reached out to still the page, her fingers brushing the edge of Kael's hand before she could stop herself.
The contact was brief — nothing more than a flicker — but he stilled. His gaze met hers, unreadable, the air between them taut and wordless.
Then, the moment broke — footsteps again, approaching the garden path.
It was Darius, Kael's right hand, his voice firm but hesitant. "My Lord, news from the northern borders. And... the capital."
He glanced briefly at Zelene, uncertainty flickering across his features. "Should I—?"
"Speak," Kael said simply.
Darius hesitated only a breath before continuing. "The capital whispers still. They say Dravenhart's power wanes. That Evandelle's influence may be the only reason the court still remembers our name."
Zelene's gaze dropped to her hands — the faint tremor of truth in his words stung.
Kael said nothing, but the muscle along his jaw tightened.
"And the north?" Kael asked quietly.
"The rebellion quiets for now," Darius replied. "But it's not gone."
"Dismissed," Kael said after a pause.
Zelene lingered in her seat long after Darius's footsteps faded beyond the archway. The air hung heavy, still carrying the echo of Dravenhart's power wanes.
Kael had gone quiet — the kind of silence that wasn't absence, but weight. His gaze was somewhere distant, his expression carved from shadow and restraint.
Zelene studied him, fingers brushing the porcelain rim of her cup. She didn't know what this feeling was — pity? concern? No. That wasn't quite right.
Two years since she had been thrown into this world. Two years of learning to breathe in someone else's skin, to master the politics of a name that was never hers. She didn't have room for empathy. Not for men like him — the cold, sharp ones who'd been born into crowns of thorns and armor of silence.
And yet...
She hated how something inside her twisted at the thought of the court calling his house weak.
Dravenhart, stripped of respect, mocked by nobles who wouldn't last a day in their lands of frost and blood.
She placed her cup down quietly. "Lord Kael."
He didn't look at her. "You shouldn't concern yourself with whispers from the capital, Lady Evandelle. They've always talked."
"Whispers build storms," she replied, tone cool but even. "And storms ruin legacies. You know that better than anyone."
That made him look up. His eyes — those deep, glass-grey things — met hers in silence.
"I'm saying," she continued, "if they're going to talk about us, let's give them something to talk about."
Kael's brows drew together. "Meaning?"
She leaned forward, a faint spark lighting her tone. "Meaning, we make everyone believe we're in love."
His stare sharpened immediately — cautious, assessing. "You're really serious."
"Completely." She rested her chin on one hand, the faintest smile on her lips. "You want Dravenhart's voice back in the court? Its strength? You won't get it with more soldiers or stoic silence. You'll get it with appearance. Influence. Social power. People adore a romantic story — especially when it involves someone they thought incapable of love."
Kael scoffed faintly, but there was something tired beneath the sound. "And you think that will make nobles bow?"
"I think," she said softly, "it will make them hesitate. And hesitation is half of victory."
He didn't reply right away. His gaze shifted toward the gardens beyond the window, where twilight began to bleed through the mist.
Zelene followed his silence, steady and deliberate. "Even here, in your halls — they look at you with awe, not warmth. They follow because they fear, not because they believe."
Kael's jaw tightened again. "They don't need to believe. They need to obey."
"That," Zelene countered, voice low but firm, "is why they'll never defend you in court."
The quiet between them stretched, taut as a bowstring.
For a moment, Zelene thought he'd end the conversation — that same cold dismissal he used like a blade. But instead, Kael exhaled slowly, fingers tapping the table once before stilling.
"You'd risk your reputation," he said quietly, "for my house?"
She tilted her head slightly, eyes steady. "For both our houses. And because—" She hesitated, searching for the right word, for something that didn't sound like sympathy. "...because I don't like losing to gossip."
That earned her something rare — the barest hint of a smirk. "You're dangerous when you're honest."
"I'm always honest," she said. "Just not always kind."
Kael looked at her for a long moment, something unspoken flickering across his expression — curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest touch of respect.
"And you think," he said finally, "if the staff, the guards, the castle itself believes this illusion, it will spread?"
Zelene nodded. "Rumors are seeds. Once planted, they grow on their own. But if we're to keep the act believable, we'll need at least one or two people who know the truth — an ally within these walls."
Kael considered that, his fingers resting against his chin. "You trust easily for someone who shouldn't."
"I don't trust," Zelene said quietly. "I calculate."
He gave a small, humorless chuckle — and then, almost reluctantly, said, "Then calculate this, Lady Evandelle. If this fails, they'll call you the manipulator, not me."
Zelene rose, smoothing her skirts, her tone light but edged with certainty. "Then we simply can't fail."
She started toward the door, feeling his gaze on her back — heavy, unreadable. Just before she stepped out, she added without turning,
"Tomorrow, we begin the act. In front of the servants first. Then the nobles."
Kael's reply came low and even, as if conceding to something inevitable.
"Very well, Lady Evandelle."
And though his words were cold, Zelene could've sworn she caught something else beneath them — amusement, perhaps. Or the faintest spark of anticipation.