A month had passed.
To the court, Seraphina D'Lorien was still in mourning. A loyal daughter grieving her parents at the family estate. She kept a quiet profile. Didn't attend court. Didn't respond to letters. Most believed the story. It was easy. Convenient.
But the truth was different.
The D'Lorien estate had turned into something else entirely.
It was a war room.
The moment she arrived, she began working. The first week alone, she met with a merchant house that dealt in eastern spice routes. It was a name she remembered from her past life. One of the few ventures that would grow tenfold within the year. She didn't hesitate. She signed the contracts herself, monitored the shipments, and by the second week, the gold was already moving.
She didn't waste it. Every coin had a purpose.
That money became the start of her freedom.
With Caelan's support behind her, she handpicked a private guard. Fifteen knights. Three rounds of vetting. She watched them train, fought two of them herself. Only those with absolute discipline and no political attachments were chosen. Once accepted, they were housed in the hidden valley behind the estate. Uniforms stripped of crest. Salaries paid from untraceable accounts.
She expanded her sanctuary. A second estate deep within the Vessant borderlands. Hidden, old, and now staffed with people she trusted. A butler. A head maid. Ten quiet servants who had no ties to court and no reason to talk. They were paid well. Fed better. Most had families relocated quietly to towns outside the capital. No one gave them reason to betray her.
Every day, Seraphina sat at her desk surrounded by maps, scrolls, and sealed letters. Some were real. Some were forged. She reviewed land contracts, old debts, royal decrees, personal letters between nobles. She burned what couldn't be trusted. She created documents where she needed leverage. She had gathered enough now to drag Alaric's name through the mud, all without ever stepping foot in court.
But she hadn't sent anything yet.
Because timing mattered.
The Empress had yet to grant her a private audience. But that was not the only path.
Two days ago, a message reached her.
Thalion Dáranor was returning to the capital. In less than two weeks.
That changed everything.
With the prince back, the court would shift again. Eyes would move. Pressure would build. And Seraphina intended to be at the center of it.
Before that could happen, she had to return. A public event had been scheduled. A charity auction hosted by House Vessant. Evelyne had delivered the invitation in person weeks ago. Smiling. Careful.
It hadn't been optional.
Backing out now would only raise suspicion. So she would attend. Play the part. Offer smiles and measured nods.
But she would be watching.
Lyria had been essential. Every coin from the spice trade had been moved cleanly through estate accounts. No one flagged the transactions. No one noticed the gaps. Lyria ensured that every receipt matched, every figure looked unremarkable. On paper, Seraphina was just maintaining her ancestral holdings. Nothing more.
Amara brought word from the capital. Quiet rumors. Frustrated merchants. Minor nobles who still remembered the D'Lorien name with respect. Many had lost standing when House Vessant expanded its influence. Amara took their stories. Seraphina used them. She started making lists. Who could be trusted. Who needed reminders. Who had debts.
Sir Dorian trained the new knights every day. He didn't speak much, but the results were clear. They obeyed him. Trusted him. They didn't just follow orders. They followed purpose.
Siran worked in silence. He intercepted two letters bound for Alaric. Both asking about Seraphina's behavior. Her location. Her health. Both were burned. Quietly. No one followed up.
Her circle wasn't just protecting her. They were building something. Preparing.
But Seraphina didn't stop there.
She opened a tailoring house in the capital. Maison Orlienne. At first glance, it was just another noblewoman's venture. Trendy. Fashionable. Newly opened. The wealthy flocked to it.
But the woman in charge, Lady Celia, was no ordinary seamstress. She had once worked with military cryptographers. A master of codes. A reader of details.
Now, she measured skirts and sleeves while noblewomen gossiped in her fitting room.
They talked about favors. Affairs. Money owed. Daughters getting married. Sons making mistakes.
Celia listened to all of it. So did her apprentices. Notes were taken. Gossip was logged. And once a week, a sealed envelope arrived at Seraphina's desk.
Loose words turned into leverage.
She had ears across the city now. And no one even knew they were speaking to her.
This wasn't about survival anymore. This was planning. This was war.
Every decision Seraphina made was tied to her future. Every contract. Every piece of gold. Every stitched dress or sharpened blade.
She had moved in silence for a month. But not entirely alone.
One evening, as the sun began to dip behind the trees surrounding the D'Lorien estate, Caelan arrived unannounced. He wore plain riding clothes, his coat dusty, his hair damp with travel sweat. But his presence cut through the quiet like a blade.
Seraphina met him in the study. No guards. No servants. Just them. She poured him a glass of wine and sat across from him.
"You should have sent word," she said.
"You would have said no," he replied.
She didn't argue. He was right.
They sat in silence for a moment. Then he asked, "Are you ready?"
"Almost."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "This is bigger than just revenge."
"I know."
"And if you fail, they won't just exile you."
"I know that too."
Caelan studied her for a long time. "I've seen you broken before. I don't want to see that again."
She didn't look away. "Then stay close."
He chuckled once, under his breath. "That was the plan."
They didn't touch. Not at first. But the air shifted. The study felt smaller, the wine heavier in their hands. He stood, walked around the table, and she didn't stop him. When he reached her, he didn't speak. He just looked at her, long enough that her breath caught.
His hand brushed her cheek. Not urgent, just steady. Testing the silence between them.
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, they simply existed like that. No court. No politics. Just two people in a room, bound by years of memory and the unspoken need to make new ones.
Then he leaned in. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath at her temple.
"I meant it," he said quietly. "If you ask me to stay, I will."
She didn't say anything. But she didn't pull away.
He didn't try to kiss her. He just stayed close, watching her face, testing how close he could get without crossing a line. He wanted to see what she would allow.
He stayed close, their breath shared in the small space between them. A single strand of her hair had caught against the corner of her mouth. He reached up slowly, carefully, and tucked it back behind her ear. His fingers lingered just slightly longer than they needed to.
Seraphina's chest rose and fell with quiet control. She had come too far to falter now. But Caelan's gaze didn't waver. It pressed into her, asking questions he didn't voice.
She held it. Met it. Refused to look away.
A quiet challenge passed between them.
Then she smiled. Small, but real.
He smiled too.
The tension softened without breaking.
She stepped back first, just enough to reset the air between them.
"It's late," she said. "You should stay the night. The guest rooms are ready."
He didn't argue.
"You'll leave before dawn," she added.
He gave a nod, respectful, and turned toward the door.
Neither said goodnight.
They didn't need to. It wasn't words they craved. It was connection. And in that quiet exchange, something steady took root. Their hearts ached for more, but neither pushed. Not tonight. What they shared in that silence was enough. For now, it was more than enough.
He left the next morning, before sunrise.
No promises. No declarations.
Just one almost-kiss, and the weight of what it could become.
Power could not stay in the dark. Not forever.
It had to be used.
And she was ready to use it.
Time didn't scare her anymore. It served her. She'd filled every hour with purpose. Every day with something that moved her forward. She didn't feel helpless. She felt precise.
And now, with Thalion returning, the next move was coming.
She would step into the light. She would strike. But not yet.
First, she had to go back.
She had to walk into the lion's den and smile like she didn't see the teeth.
She had to return to the capital.
She had to enter the Vessant estate.
She had to stand in front of Evelyne, the woman who had betrayed her, who had taken joy in her fall, who had crawled into her place and smiled like she belonged there.
And she had to smile like she didn't want to reduce everything Evelyne loved to ashes. Like she didn't want to set fire to the curtains, the chairs, the legacy Evelyne had tried to steal. She would smile like it was nothing. Like she wasn't tasting blood behind her teeth.
That was the game. Pretend grace. Hide the blade. Smile like her fingers weren't itching to pull it free.
And Seraphina was ready.
She wasn't just returning to court.
She was walking into battle.