Draven's fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the table.
Once. Twice. Each soft click resonated through the hushed chamber, tightening the knot in my chest.
It wasn't his anger I feared, nor his tension, but the dangerous glint of amusement in his eyes.
A small smirk briefly ghosted across his lips beneath the mask, and for the first time since entering this oppressive room, a genuine fear of exposure coiled in my gut.
Then, he sighed softly.
"In my family," he stated, his voice calm, "our masks are symbols."
The room quieted further, if that were possible.
"And those who attempt to remove one…" A slight, chilling pause.
"…may not live long enough to see dawn."
The words settled heavily, not loud, not overtly threatening, but imbued with a finality that silenced all immediate response.
My father's gaze hardened, then slowly, he extended a finger toward Draven's hand.
"That ring," he said, his tone measured and suspicious.
"How does a traveler come into possession of something only Duke Draven wears?"
For the first time, Draven chuckled. A single, low, quiet sound. Then his gaze shifted toward me.
"My lady," he said smoothly, "perhaps you should explain."
My breath caught.
"That ring," he continued lazily, lifting his hand slightly,
"was the price I requested for saving your beloved daughter from her enemies."
The entire chamber shifted, a wave of murmurs instantly spreading.
I forced myself to exhale slowly, despite the pressure crawling beneath my skin, and nodded.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I stole it from Draven before escaping."
Several elders inhaled sharply. "You stole from the Duke—?"
"That ring alone is worth a fortune—"
"No wonder this man agreed to help—"
"He's fortunate to still be alive wearing it openly—"
Their voices overlapped carelessly, a cacophony I could barely hear over my own hammering heartbeat.
Yet, Draven remained perfectly calm beside me, as if none of it concerned him at all.
My father finally raised a hand. "Enough."
The room fell silent once more. His eyes returned to me first, then to Draven.
"You will have what you requested," he said slowly. "You are still my daughter."
Relief nearly escaped me too quickly. *Nearly*.
Then his gaze sharpened toward the masked man beside me. "But know your place."
The atmosphere cooled instantly. Draven leaned back slightly in his chair, relaxed. Dangerously so.
"Do you know the real reason I accepted this task?"
he asked quietly. No one answered. His fingers tapped once more against the table. Then—
"Revenge."
The word landed softly, yet the room reacted immediately. I saw the shift in their expressions, the understanding.
Or rather—the misunderstanding. They thought he meant revenge against House Everfrost.
Against the North. No one considered another possibility. Draven didn't correct them. Of course he didn't.
I lowered my gaze quickly, hiding the tension threatening to show across my face.
Then, I pressed a hand lightly against my temple.
"I…" My voice came softer than before. "I don't feel well."
Several heads turned immediately. I rose slowly from my seat, then deliberately staggered.
A few startled voices sounded through the chamber.
Before I could fall properly, a hand caught my waist firmly. Another steadied my shoulder. Warm. Solid. Immediate.
My breath caught slightly as I looked up. Draven. Or rather—*Raphael*.
The proximity alone was enough to send heat rushing into my face. The elders noticed too.
Several looked away immediately with visible irritation. One muttered under his breath.
Another cleared his throat sharply.
Draven, meanwhile, looked entirely unaffected.
"She needs rest," he said simply. No hesitation. No embarrassment. Just control. "I'll take her back."
One of the elders waved a dismissive hand. "Go, then."
Another sighed in annoyance.
"Take the lady out before she collapses completely."
Draven didn't answer. His hand remained steady against my waist as he guided me toward the doors.
And somehow, that felt far more dangerous than the council chamber we left behind.
....
....
His hand remained against my waist even after we left the chamber. Firm. Steady. Natural.
The corridor stretched quietly ahead, torchlight flickering against the stone walls as servants lowered their heads and stepped aside.
And still, all I could think about was the fact that he was holding my waist.
What was wrong with me? *Focus.*
It was an act. Nothing more.
I forced myself to breathe normally before carefully lifting my hand and easing his away from me.
The moment his grip loosened, his gaze shifted downward. I immediately looked away.
"T-they might suspect something," I said quickly. "A bodyguard shouldn't hold his… madam like that."
The last words came out embarrassingly awkward.
Draven said nothing. Not even a flicker of reaction.
He simply opened the door to the room and stepped aside for me to enter first.
That somehow made it worse. I avoided his gaze completely as I walked toward the mirror.
The room was quiet again. Too quiet. I began removing my jewelry slowly, placing each piece onto the vanity one after another.
"I think we almost got caught," I murmured.
Behind me, I heard the faint sound of fabric shifting.
Draven loosened the buttons near his collar before pulling off the outer layer of his coat and tossing it carelessly onto a chair.
"Your parents were vulnerable," he said flatly. I glanced at him through the mirror before quickly looking away again.
"What kind of idiot travels on a mission without removing his ring?" His tone turned faintly mocking.
"And your story barely held together."
I winced slightly.
He continued calmly, "How exactly were you supposed to steal my ring if the Duke had supposedly been away for days?"
A brief pause. "They were too busy fighting for political seats to notice their own logic."
Then he laughed quietly, a cold amusement. "Empty minds hidden beneath titles."
A small smile escaped me before I could stop it. "You're smart," I said softly.
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
I immediately turned away toward the wardrobe to hide my expression.
Inside hung several gowns—all expensive, all clearly chosen by him.
I grabbed one quickly before stepping behind the folding screen.
The heavy dress slipped from my shoulders onto the floor, and I tried to change into the simpler gown.
The fabric tightened stubbornly around my waist.
I frowned, twisting awkwardly as I reached behind myself for the zipper. Why was this thing so—
I suddenly felt rough fingers brush lightly against my back. I stiffened immediately.
Heat rushed straight to my face. Draven said nothing as he grasped the edges of the gown carefully, pulling the fabric together so the zipper could close properly.
The movement forced me to stand still. Too still. My fingers tightened slightly against the front of the dress.
The zipper moved upward slowly. The fabric tightened further around me.
"It's tight," I muttered quietly.
"Manage it." His voice came calm behind me.
I bit my lip softly as he finally pulled the zipper fully into place. But instead of stepping away, he drew the dagger from his belt. I blinked.
Then—with one clean motion—he sliced lightly through the inner seam near the side of the gown.
The tension in the fabric loosened instantly.
"There," he said simply.
When I turned toward him, my cheeks were still warm. Draven's gaze lowered toward my face briefly.
And for the first time, I fully realized how tall he actually was. Standing this close felt unfair.
How had the real Seraphina survived living around this man without losing her mind?
Did he truly act like all of this was normal? Like adjusting dresses and terrifying council elders were equally casual tasks to him?
Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "I've noticed something."
My heart immediately betrayed me. I already knew. I knew exactly what he was about to ask. *Why was I always blushing around him?*
I turned away quickly before he could see my face properly.
"It's your fault," I muttered defensively, folding my arms slightly. "Why would you even buy gowns this tight?"