They arrived at the market just as it bloomed into its liveliest hour.
Color spilled everywhere, bolts of fabric cascading like waterfalls, spices perfuming the air with sweetness and fire, merchants calling out their wares with voices trained to charm and outshout one another. For a moment, Denova simply stood there, eyes wide, taking it all in.
"So this is the market. I've been here before but this time i think i like this day the most." she murmured, half awed, half amused. "I feel like I've stepped into another world."
Patricia smiled faintly at her side. "In a way, you have. The harvest festival is coming that's why there's a lot of merchants visiting the empire."
They began with the silk stalls, long rows of shimmering fabric that caught the sunlight and turned it into liquid gold. Denova ran her fingers over one bolt after another, delight written openly across her face.
"This one feels like water," she said, lifting a pale lavender silk.
"That is river spun silk," Patricia explained smoothly. "It drapes beautifully but tears easily if mishandled. Best used for sleeves or layered skirts."
Denova blinked. "You know… everything."
Patricia chuckled.
They moved from stall to stall, and with every piece Denova touched, Patricia offered a quiet lesson, where it was woven, how it behaved, what kind of gown it longed to become. Denova listened with genuine fascination, laughing when Patricia caught her nearly buying the same silk twice.
By the time they reached the famous dessert shop, its windows fogged with warmth and Denova was glowing with happiness.
She leaned over the menu, brows knitting. "Patricia… could you recommend something? I want something really good."
Patricia studied her for a moment, realization dawning gently.
Lady Denova Ravenscroft….the rumored ghost noble.
Rarely seen.
Rarely wandering markets.
A woman adored by gossip but untouched by everyday pleasures.
Patricia's expression softened. She then call the server to order.
" We'll order Meringue Snowballs In Custard, Mocha Baked Alaskas, Panettone, Chocolate satin pie, and Caipirinha." she said. "It's one of my favorites."
Moments later, Denova took a bite, and froze.
Her eyes widened. Then she smiled. Then she laughed softly, covering her mouth like she'd just been caught committing a crime.
"This," she said reverently, "might be the greatest thing I've ever eaten."
Patricia laughed quietly. "I told you."
Denova was halfway through her dessert, happily lost in sweetness, when everything went wrong.
A woman approached from the side, carrying drinks. Her foot caught, and suddenly hot chocolate flew through the air.
It splashed across Denova's dress.
Gasps rippled through the shop.
Denova startled, standing abruptly, heart racing. The warmth soaked into fabric, but thankfully not skin.
"Oh!" she breathed, then exhaled. "At least it's not my arm…"
Then she looked up.
Lady Seraphine Evernight stood before her.
Their eyes met.
Seraphine's lips curved not in apology, but in quiet triumph.
The whispers began immediately.
"That's her…"
"Denova Ravenscroft…"
"The Duke's woman…"
"The hidden gem of the Empire…"
Denova felt the weight of every stare. Tiredness washed over her not shock, not fear just exhaustion.
She stepped forward calmly. "Are you alright?" she asked Lady Seraphine gently.
The crowd stilled.
Her voice was soft. Angelic, almost. The kind that made people lean closer.
Please, she thought tiredly, just say you are so I can leave. This is really disturbing my shopping.
Before Seraphine could respond, Patricia stood.
Her posture straightened, eyes sharp.
"Lady Seraphine," Patricia said politely. "May I ask why you walked so close to Lady Denova when there is ample space in the center?"
Seraphine stiffened. "It was simply an accident."
Patricia tilted her head slightly, her expression calm but calculating.
"Curious," she said evenly. "The floor is completely dry, your stance is steady, and if I'm not mistaken, you have worn heels since childhood. One does not simply forget how to walk in them."
The words were polite…too polite, but they landed like a blade.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, curiosity sharpening into suspicion.
Seraphine's composure cracked. "How dare a mere maid question a noble?" she snapped, voice rising. "I could have you imprisoned for such insolence!"
That was when Denova stepped forward.
"You spilled hot chocolate on me," Denova said, her voice clear and measured, cutting clean through the noise. "You offered no apology. Instead, you threatened one of the Duke's most trusted servants."
Her gaze lock onto Seraphine's, unblinking.
"Tell me," she continued coolly, "did you truly believe the Duke would find that acceptable?"
The crowd leaned in.
"And Patricia did not insult you," Denova added. "She asked a reasonable question based on observable facts. If that feels threatening, then perhaps the problem is not the question, but the answer it suggests."
The murmurs grew louder now, sharper.
Seraphine scoffed, forcing a laugh. "You're overreacting. Surely someone of your status owns more than one dress."
Denova smiled.
It was soft. Elegant. Dangerous.
"This is not about a dress," she said quietly. "It's about accountability. And you seem remarkably unfamiliar with the concept."
She turned slightly toward Patricia. "Come. There is no sense debating with someone who mistakes volume for authority."
She took one step away.
Seraphine tried to stop her.
The sudden motion sent a jolt through the crowd, but before she could get any closer, a knight stepped forward, steel whispering as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
"Lady Evernight," he said calmly, almost kindly, "I would advise restraint. Pride is far easier to mend than a severed neck."
Silence crashed down like a held breath.
Denova walked away dress ruined, pulse racing, spine straight.
Behind her, whispers followed like shadows.
And somewhere in that silence, fate quietly took note.
Lady Seraphine stayed behind long after Lady Denova had already stepped out of the dessert shop, the door swinging shut far too softly for the storm still raging in her chest. The sweet scent of sugar and cocoa now felt suffocating. The tables, the half-finished desserts, the curious glances from earlier, it all felt irritatingly ordinary for what she was feeling.
She was angry.
That much was obvious.
But what bothered her more was why she was angry.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," she muttered under her breath, folding her arms tightly as if that alone could keep herself together.
This was the second time now. The second time Denova Ravenscroft had managed to make her lose control in public. And what made it worse…far worse…was that Denova hadn't even raised her voice. She hadn't mocked her, hadn't flaunted anything. She had simply stood there, calm and composed, speaking with reason. That kind of quiet confidence made Seraphine feel small in a way she wasn't used to.
She hated that.
Seraphine had always believed she was patient.
She knew how to wait.
Her entire life had been built on that skill. She had admired the Duke from a respectful distance for years, never pushing, never demanding more than what was given. Even when he barely noticed her feelings, when his replies were polite, distant, formal, she accepted it. Because at least there was no one else.
As long as the Duke stood alone, Seraphine could endure.
And then Denova appeared.
Less than a year.
That was all it had taken.
Less than a year, according to what she'd heard from the guild, and suddenly Denova are everywhere in conversations, in rumors, in whispers carried through the capital. People spoke as if she had always been there, as if she and the Duke shared some long, unspoken history no one else could touch.
"That's what I don't understand," Seraphine said quietly, staring at her reflection in the glass. "How can someone just… walk in and take everything?"
It wasn't even that Denova acted like she owned the Duke. She didn't cling, didn't boast, didn't even seem to realize the effect she had.
And somehow, that made it worse.
The Duke's attention simply followed her naturally, as if drawn by something deeper than choice.
Seraphine pressed her fingers to her temple, frustration creeping back in. She had written to the Duke carefully, respectfully asking to visit the manor. Not to confront him. Not to demand anything. She just needed to see him. To talk. To understand where she stood now.
"I deserve that much," she whispered.
Because what hurt the most wasn't rejection.
It was uncertainty.
The feeling that years of quiet devotion might be dismissed without ever being acknowledged.
Denova wasn't her enemy. Seraphine knew that, at least on some level. But Denova was the change, and the reason everything felt unstable all of a sudden. As long as Denova stayed by the Duke's side, Seraphine would never know if she had simply arrived too late… or if she had never truly mattered at all.
Just thinking about that her gaze darkened.
She would not accept this ending.
If Denova Ravenscroft is the obstacle, then Denova Ravenscroft would be removed.
Slowly, Seraphine straightened, smoothing her dress, restoring her perfect noble composure as if the cracks had never existed. But behind her eyes, something dangerous stirred.
She would find a way.
One way or another, she would drive Denova away from the Duke,
from the manor,
from the future Seraphine believe that meant to be hers.