Zelene's plan began, as most dangerous things did, over tea.
The morning sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the west corridor, spilling warmth over the long table where she sat — serene, smiling faintly, the picture of composure. But inside, her pulse thrummed with quiet intent.
Across from her, Miren hovered with that saccharine smile she wore so well. She'd just finished berating one of the scullery maids for spilling tea leaves — in the same breath she'd used to compliment Zelene's gown.
Zelene returned the smile. "You handle things so efficiently, Mistress Miren. No wonder the manor runs like clockwork."
Flattery. The easiest bait.
Miren preened, her lashes lowering demurely. "I simply serve the Duke to the best of my abilities, my lady. The Dravenhart estate demands excellence."
"Of course." Zelene tilted her head, watching the older woman pour her tea — graceful, precise, but not gentle. "You must have seen so much, then. All the inner workings — shipments, accounts, letters?"
Miren's hand paused, almost imperceptibly. Then she chuckled softly. "One might say so. But such matters are beneath your concern, my lady."
Zelene laughed lightly, as if she hadn't just seen that flicker of tension. "You're right, of course. I'm hopeless with numbers. I'd lose myself in the ledgers before I even found the first page."
The conversation drifted on — Miren, smug and composed again, dismissing the maid Elise with a snap of her fingers. But Zelene had seen it. That brief stiffness when the word letters left her mouth. Something was there.
When Miren left, Zelene exhaled quietly. Ray was standing near the doorway, motionless as always, a dark silhouette against the light.
"You saw it," she murmured.
He inclined his head once.
"She's hiding something," Zelene continued, her tone quieter now. "Letters, maybe. Or accounts. Whatever it is — she's afraid I'll find it."
Ray's eyes flicked toward her, unreadable, then back to the empty doorway where Miren had gone.
"Then," he said quietly, "we make her think you will."
Zelene blinked — almost startled that he spoke again, this time not to question but to plan. Her lips curved. "That's cruel, Ray."
His gaze didn't waver. "Effective."
She almost laughed. "You're starting to sound like him."
The faintest shadow crossed Ray's expression — maybe disapproval, maybe discomfort. Zelene sighed, shaking her head. "Never mind. Let's start small. I'll… ask questions. Pretend I'm interested in household management. Something a future duchess might do."
"And when she takes the bait?"
"I'll follow the threads." She smiled faintly. "Every lie leaves a trail if you know where to look."
That evening, Zelene was walking through the garden courtyard when she saw him.
Kael.
He was standing near the stone archway, speaking with one of his lieutenants — his posture sharp, voice low, commanding. The faint gold light of dusk caught on his hair and the edge of his armor, painting him in molten shadow.
For a moment, she almost forgot to breathe.
Three days. Three days of cold distance, of brushed-off glances and curt words that barely counted as acknowledgment. He'd been avoiding her like her presence alone was a danger he couldn't afford.
And maybe it was.
But when he turned — when his eyes met hers — the world seemed to hold its breath.
Zelene didn't move. Didn't look away.
There was something in his gaze then — recognition, conflict, guilt — but before she could even name it, the mask dropped back into place. He looked through her, past her, like she was invisible.
And walked away.
The sound of his boots against the marble was final.
Zelene's throat tightened. She let her gaze drop to the ground, fingers curling against her skirts.
She'd told herself it didn't matter. That his coldness was protection, not rejection. But it still burned.
"Come," she murmured softly, forcing her feet to move again. "We have work to do."
Ray followed, silent as ever, but she caught the faintest flicker of sympathy in his eyes. Or maybe she imagined it.
Because love, when it bloomed in silence, often hurt more than any sword could.