The court always smelled like a combination of polished wood, waxed marble, and desperation. Not exactly my favorite perfume, but apparently, it was a thing here.
I tried to walk confidently through the grand hall, reminding myself—you are Seraphina, not some scared little girl hiding behind a veil of magical misery. I even managed a small, "I've got this," pep talk in my head before a pair of courtiers started whispering like I'd just announced I was going to overthrow the throne.
And honestly… maybe I was a threat. Not that I'd ever admit it aloud.
Then I felt it. That familiar pull at the base of my skull—the bond. Caelan. He was near, probably lurking in the shadows, looking like the brooding, impossibly handsome storm he always did. Honestly, I half-wondered if the crown came with a permanent dark brooding effect.
"You look… tense." His voice, smooth as velvet and mildly threatening, appeared in my head, making me jump like I hadn't just been practicing my 'not-a-nervous wreck' act.
"Thanks, I'll… take that as a compliment?" I muttered. He didn't answer, just gave me that look—the one that made it hard to breathe and even harder to think about anything else.
"Watch yourself today," he said finally. "There are people here who really don't like you."
I raised an eyebrow. "People who don't like me? In the court? That narrows it down to… everyone?"
He didn't even flinch. "Some more than others."
Ah. That sounded ominous. And yet… thrilling. Probably not safe, but since when was safe my style?
I was halfway to brushing it off when a figure approached, all smiles and dagger-sharp politeness. Mireya. Yes, the human embodiment of iced tea and judgment. She glided past, tipping her head like she was a Disney villain auditioning for the part of most annoying court rival ever.
"Seraphina," she cooed, voice honey-sweet but with the venom of a thousand snakes hidden somewhere underneath. "So delightful to see you. I hear you've become… quite indispensable to Prince Caelan."
I kept my smile. Calm, pleasant, normal… like a cat sitting on a cactus and pretending it was totally fine.
"Yes, it's been… an adventure," I replied carefully.
Her laugh was short, sharp, like a blade flicking off marble. "Adventure, yes… I do hope you understand the stakes of this place. One wrong move, and…" Her words trailed off, leaving me with a very clear mental picture of exactly what she was implying.
Great. I loved it. Court politics. Backstabbing. And she hadn't even started the emotional manipulation yet.
Before I could respond, Caelan appeared beside me, hand brushing mine just enough to make my pulse trip over itself. "Ignore her," he murmured, voice low. "She'll try, but she can't touch you. Not while I'm around."
My stomach did the thing where it felt like it was both floating and twisting at the same time. Charming. Dangerous. Protective. All the reasons I was both addicted and terrified.
"Well, she can be very persuasive," I teased lightly, trying to keep my voice casual while internally melting into a puddle of heart-eyes and adrenaline.
"Persuasive and annoying. Big difference," Caelan whispered, eyes scanning the hall like he was already planning the assassination of every whisperer in a ten-mile radius. I tried not to notice how his jaw tightened every time he looked at her.
Then it happened. The first attack. Not literal swords or fireballs, thankfully—but close enough. A scroll was sent carelessly my way—except "careless" was a lie, because it had my name written on it in bold, messy ink that clearly spelled drama incoming.
I caught it just in time and unfurled it like a practiced professional, though inside I was screaming: why does every day feel like I'm in a medieval reality show?
It was a note, short and sharp:
"Some bonds are not meant to survive. Some people are not meant to stay."
The handwriting… familiar. Too familiar.
I froze. Caelan's hand touched my shoulder. "Who is it?" His voice was calm, but I could feel the warning in it, like a storm brewing behind glass.
"I don't… know," I admitted. "But it's… bad."
He didn't answer with words. He didn't have to. The bond hummed between us, tight and alert. Danger wasn't coming from just anyone. Someone was actively targeting me. Targeting us.
And for some inexplicable reason, instead of panic, my chest filled with a strange, electric thrill. Heart pounding, hair damp from a sudden nervous sweat, I looked at him and whispered, "…Then I guess we fight it. Together."
A faint smirk played at the corner of his lips. "You always want to fight, don't you?"
"I do," I said boldly. "And you better keep up. Or I'll start throwing things."
The rain had stopped earlier, but I could feel the storm coming. Not in the sky, but in the halls of the palace. Political intrigue, magical threats, jealous rivals… and possibly someone who wanted me gone.
Caelan squeezed my hand. "Then we'll face it, together. And if anyone dares touch what's ours…" His eyes darkened. "…they'll regret it."
I grinned. "Sounds perfect. Oh, and remind me to thank whoever invented dramatic tension and life-threatening secrets, because they're doing amazing work."
He didn't laugh, but the corner of his lips twitched, and I decided that counted.
The game was on. And I had a feeling, for once, I wasn't going to be playing fair.