Evelyne was furious.
She had tried everything to catch Caelan Vorenthal's attention. Invitations wrapped in charm. Polished compliments slipped into passing conversations. Smiles are timed just right at council sessions. She had even staged a casual meeting during his training rotation, an appearance in the east courtyard wearing silk and subtle scent, a look of surprise faked with precision.
She had rehearsed it. The timing, the angle of her arrival, and the color of the silk that complemented her skin under morning light. She had walked the stone path slowly, letting her footsteps fall just loud enough to turn heads without seeming purposeful. She carried a book of old poetry, a prop that hinted at both intelligence and romance. Her perfume was chosen carefully, floral, but restrained, something that lingered.
When she had turned the corner and "bumped" into him, her expression had been a masterclass in calculated softness: eyes widened just enough to feign surprise, a small apologetic smile tugging at the corner of her lips, a gentle laugh that invited conversation without pressure.
He had looked at her.
And simply stepped aside.
A nod. Polite. Courteous. Respectful.
Then he continued on his path, sword still in hand, sweat still on his brow, as if she had been nothing more than background.
It had taken every ounce of her control not to scream.
She had spent hours preparing for that moment. Days, even. And he had treated it like a passing breeze.
That moment had confirmed it for her. Caelan wasn't uninterested in her. He was unaffected. She was trying to move a stone with silk.
And it wasn't working.
Not when Seraphina was around.
She noticed everything.
Caelan stood beside Seraphina in court. He listened when she spoke. He never hovered, never fawned. But he was always there. Silent, steady, loyal. Not as a soldier following orders, but as a man who had chosen where to stand.
Evelyne had seen it over and over, how Caelan would shift slightly closer when Seraphina leaned forward in her seat, as if instinctively guarding her even during council debates. When she rose to speak, his eyes would follow her, not just out of duty, but with a kind of quiet admiration. He'd adjust his stance to match her movements, always just near enough to reach her in a heartbeat if needed.
She once watched him catch a falling document that slipped from Seraphina's grasp, one simple movement, handed back without a word, but the way his fingers brushed hers lingered too long to be dismissed. And then there was the moment Seraphina had laughed, a soft, rare sound, and Caelan, usually unreadable, had let the corner of his mouth lift in something that wasn't quite a smile, but close enough to make Evelyne's stomach turn.
It wasn't imagined. It wasn't subtle. Caelan didn't act like a man sworn to protect a royal.
He acted like a man already in love. And Seraphina? She seemed completely unaware.
That was the worst part. The girl who never asked for attention somehow commanded it. Evelyne had spent years learning how to be seen. Seraphina just... existed. And Caelan saw her.
Evelyne's gaze burned with resentment. She remembered their childhood. Seraphina had always been the softer one, the one with gentle manners and quiet smiles. Evelyne had been sharp, clever, and ambitious. Yet it had always been Seraphina the elders praised. Seraphina, the tutor's adoration. Seraphina, who stole the attention of suitors, even Alaric.
Evelyne had believed Alaric would choose her. In fact, he had.
She had been betrothed to him first. The announcement had been quiet but official, her family celebrated, and Evelyne had been overjoyed. She had believed it was the beginning of everything she'd ever wanted: power and prestige beside a man who understood her hunger for more.
But that joy hadn't lasted.
Not long after, whispers began to circulate. The Vessant elders had met in private councils. Alliances were being re-evaluated. Then, without warning, the engagement was broken. Reassigned. Rewritten.
To Seraphina.
Evelyne had heard the news secondhand, through a servant who hadn't realized she hadn't been told yet. Her chest had gone cold. Her hands had shaken.
Seraphina would become Duchess. Not her.
It was a legacy, they said. Politics. A better match.
It was a betrayal.
That was the moment Evelyne had decided that if she couldn't be the duchess in name, she would be it in fact. She had seduced Alaric, not out of desire, but out of retribution. Out of defiance.
She saw herself as the original. The rightful choice. Seraphina had taken her place, but she had carved her way back into it through every whispered night, every secret meeting. In Evelyne's eyes, the duchess' seat had always belonged to her.
It had been enough until now.
Now Seraphina walks like a queen reborn. She didn't grovel. She didn't seek favor. She simply moved with purpose, and people noticed.
And Caelan noticed most of all.
There was something in the way he looked at her, an intensity Evelyne couldn't replicate. It wasn't lust. It wasn't a duty. It was something rooted. Something dangerous.
Evelyne hated it. She hated how Seraphina had risen from ash with more power than before. She hated how Caelan followed her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
She needed a new approach.
Caelan would not be baited with charm. He wasn't pulled by flirtation. He was a man of order. Of principle. If she wanted to be seen, she had to change the game.
So she began to adjust. She started listening more. Asking quiet questions. Learning what Caelan valued. Who he trusted. Where he stood when no one was watching.
She began to place herself differently. Not in his path, but near it. Not in his view, but on his level.
Because if Seraphina hadn't held onto what she had, Evelyne would be ready to take it.
And this time, she wouldn't settle for being second.
A letter here. A message there. To minor nobles with buried scandals. To the forgotten cousins of disgraced houses. People who owed her favors or feared the weight of her name. She asked for records. For habits. For pressure points.
If Caelan wouldn't choose her willingly, she would build the circumstances where he had no choice.
She didn't want to ruin him.
She wanted him indebted. Invested. Caught.
Everyone wanted something.
Even him.
She just had to find what it was.
And then make herself the only answer.
________________________________________
That same evening, Seraphina stood before her mirror.
She barely recognized herself.
The girl who once clung to loyalty and tradition was gone. Burned away. In her place stood something harder. Calmer. Focused.
She remembered that Evelyne once meant something to her. They had been girls who dreamed together. Whispered secrets beneath silk sheets. Laughed until their stomachs hurt.
But the cracks had started long before the fire. Backhanded compliments. Lingering looks. Evelyne had learned to smile while setting traps. And Seraphina had been too slow to step away.
She had mourned that loss. Truly. Deeply.
But not anymore.
Now, she faced a rival who wore her past like a weapon.
She thought of Caelan.
He had become a constant. Steady. Present. Not loud. Not possessive.
Just there.
When others had schemed, he had listened. When others had doubted, he had believed.
He didn't try to fix her. He didn't demand trust. He simply stood beside her.
It wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it was something real. Something rare. And dangerous, because it made her want to believe.
There were moments she thought of his hands. The weight of his gaze. The way her name sounded in his mouth. She told herself it was gratitude. Nothing more.
But it lingered.
She had imagined, once, what it might be like to lean into that steadiness. To rest. To not hold everything alone.
He wouldn't let her fall. She knew that.
And for someone who had been betrayed, discarded, and burned that kind of certainty was terrifying.
She pushed the thought away and moved to her desk.
Amara had left coded updates. Small but vital. Confirmations of shifting loyalties. Lists of names are ready to act.
She lit the wax seal with controlled fingers.
A knock at the door.
Dorian entered, calm and quiet. "It's done."
Seraphina nodded.
"Then we begin."
The storm had already broken. And soon, the court would feel its first crack of thunder.