The rose garden pavilion wasn't dressed for tea. It was dressed for blood.
Gilded teacups caught the afternoon light like tiny suns. Petal-dusted pastries arranged with surgical precision. Music that barely masked the knives hiding behind every smile.
This wasn't hospitality. It was a performance, and Seraphina was the main event.
Behind it all, Evelyne had been pulling strings since sunrise.
Two hours earlier...
Evelyne had baited her hook with the precision of someone who'd perfected this particular art. Cordelia, desperate for reassurance and terrified of losing what little relevance remained, clung to Evelyne's carefully dangled suggestions like a woman too proud to admit she was drowning.
"I hope you don't mind me asking," Cordelia had said, wringing her hands in a performance of fragile civility. "But you're so close to Seraphina. I've been wondering... how is she really adjusting to married life? She seems so confident in public, but surely there must be... challenges?"
Evelyne lowered her lashes, a flicker of loyal hesitation written flawlessly across her face. "I probably shouldn't say," she whispered, glancing around with feigned discretion. "But she's been... struggling lately. Trying so hard to appear confident, but it comes across as rather desperate."
She paused, remembering this morning's visit, how easily Seraphina had crumbled under a simple charm and gentle pressure. How she'd practically fled to the washroom just to escape a basic conversation, stammering about gardening accidents and weak magic.
"And I've noticed her seeking comfort from Duke Caelan. Like a lost little girl looking for a shining knight to rescue her."
Cordelia leaned forward, eyes gleaming with hunger. "And Alaric? What does he think?"
A sigh. Carefully placed. "Distant. Distracted. I think... he's seeing her for who she really is. Not the woman he married." Evelyne's voice softened into something that sounded like pity. "It's tragic, how desperation ages a woman before her time."
That struck home. Cordelia's expression stiffened, her pride inflamed exactly as Evelyne had calculated.
Every word was bait. And Cordelia swallowed it whole, convinced she was navigating treacherous waters by her own cunning, unaware that Evelyne had charted every tide.
Manipulation in velvet gloves. Cordelia walked away feeling empowered, not realizing she'd been armed and aimed like a dagger at Evelyne's chosen target.
After all, who would suspect the sweet, smiling cousin? Evelyne had perfected the art of looking innocent while lighting the match and handing someone else the torch. Cordelia would take all the blame for the attack, while Evelyne remained above suspicion, the concerned relative caught between loyalties.
And after this morning's visit, Evelyne was certain of victory. Her charm had slipped into Seraphina like silk through water. The girl had practically melted under minimal pressure, stammering about gardening accidents and her pathetic magical incompetence. If anything, Seraphina had grown weaker since the wedding, not stronger.
This afternoon would be a slaughter.
Present...
Seraphina entered the pavilion fifteen minutes fashionably late, and every conversation stopped. The room fell silent, recalibrating around her.
Once, she'd favored high collars and muted tones, dressing to apologize for her own existence. Not today. Today, she wore deep sapphire silk molded to her curves like liquid starlight. The neckline hinted at danger, the fitted bodice spoke of confidence, and jeweled pins secured her upswept hair in a crown of defiance.
This wasn't just a dress. It was a declaration of war.
Even Evelyne's breath caught for a moment. This wasn't the trembling girl from this morning, the one who'd practically apologized for existing. Where had this transformation come from?
But then Seraphina spoke, and Evelyne's confidence returned.
"Cousin!" Evelyne rose first, all radiance and faux affection. "You look positively refreshed. I was so worried when you missed lunch."
"You needn't have," Seraphina replied, offering her cheek for a kiss that never quite landed. "Sometimes, even duchesses are entitled to a fever."
Evelyne's smile brightened. There it was, the same meek deflection from this morning. All that dramatic silk couldn't disguise what lay beneath: a girl still playing dress-up in a duchess's title.
There was a flicker in Evelyne's eyes, something between suspicion and annoyance, but she masked it with a graceful wave. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better. You simply must try the rosewater cakes. They're almost as sweet as Lady Cordelia."
Cordelia Thorne stood beside the table in full white lace, golden curls perfectly arranged for the breeze to tousle just so. She looked like an engagement portrait brought to life, or a bride-to-be rather than a cast-off mistress.
Near the pavilion's edge, a thin man with ink-stained fingers sat with an open notebook, occasionally glancing up from his careful notations. The journalist Evelyne had invited to "document the season's most elegant gatherings."
Cordelia still believed she held the upper hand, blind to the fact that Evelyne had already played her like a fiddle.
"Duchess," Cordelia said with a smile as thin as spun glass. "How brave of you to come. I imagine it must be difficult to attend social functions after... well, your last little stumble."
Seraphina tilted her head with innocent curiosity, as if genuinely puzzled. "You mean when I tripped over someone's wounded pride? Oh my, I do hope I didn't cause any lasting damage."
Her tone was filled with sincere concern, as if she truly worried about having accidentally hurt someone's feelings.
Shocked silence. Then Lady Marcelle burst into delighted laughter. Someone choked on their drink. Lady Vivienne pressed her hand to her chest as if scandalized, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Evelyne laughed lightly, covering her mouth with gloved fingers. "My, we are spirited today."
But something flickered behind her eyes. That wasn't the response she'd expected. This morning, Seraphina had crumbled at the first sign of pressure. What had changed?
The conversation continued, but Seraphina could feel the shift, every glance, every carefully chosen word was building toward something. Lady Vivienne finally broke the tension with a pointed sip of tea.
"Did you hear about Lady Rosalind Fairmont? Poor dear," she began with syrupy concern that felt oddly familiar. "To think she believed Lord Fairmont would remain faithful. Everyone knew about his... entanglements."
Seraphina caught Evelyne's satisfied smile over her teacup rim. This wasn't random gossip, it was artillery, carefully aimed using everything Evelyne thought she knew about her target.
But Evelyne had made one critical error. She'd based her strategy on this morning's performance, never suspecting that the trembling, magically-inept girl had been exactly that, a performance.
"Especially with that seamstress," Lady Marcelle chimed in. "Helena Ashworth. Carried on for three years before the wedding, and still visits twice a week."
"She's with child again," Lady Heloise whispered. "The second one. Meanwhile, Lady Rosalind remains... conspicuously unblessed."
Cordelia leaned forward, eyes bright with anticipation. She thought she knew where this was heading.
Evelyne offered a sympathetic hum. "Marriage contracts rarely compete with passion, do they? Sometimes a man's heart simply... wanders to where it truly belongs."
The words landed like thrown stones. Seraphina recognized the trap now, every detail carefully chosen to mirror her own situation. But two could play this game.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and thoughtful, carefully considering a fascinating puzzle.
"How interesting," she said, setting down her cup with delicate care. "Though I confess, poor Lady Rosalind's situation does seem rather... complicated, doesn't it?"
She looked around the table with wide, earnest eyes, as if seeking guidance from her more worldly companions.
"After all," Seraphina continued with gentle sympathy, "to be trapped by circumstances... that does seem rather sad, doesn't it? But real choice, real preference..." She paused, looking almost shy about voicing such thoughts. "Well, that must tell such a different story altogether."
Her voice carried the hesitant quality of someone unused to offering opinions in sophisticated company.
Cordelia's eyes glittered dangerously. The opening had been laid bare, and she couldn't resist taking it.
"Oh yes," Cordelia said with deceptive sweetness, "it must be so difficult when a woman realizes she was merely... convenient. When her husband's heart clearly lies elsewhere."
She looked directly at Seraphina as she spoke.
Seraphina's hand twitched, barely, and Cordelia's eyes lit up as if she'd drawn blood. But Seraphina only smiled, slow and serene, as if she'd allowed the blow on purpose.
The table grew quiet, sensing the shift from general gossip to something sharper.
Seraphina blinked in apparent confusion, her voice soft with uncertainty. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Cordelia. I was still thinking about poor Lady Rosalind. Did you mean to ask about... something else entirely?"
She looked genuinely perplexed, unable to follow the conversation's sudden turn.
Cordelia flushed crimson, realizing she'd been caught making it personal. "I merely meant, "
"Oh, of course!" Seraphina said with sudden brightness, like a child who'd finally understood a difficult lesson. "You're so clever to see the connections between different situations. I never would have thought to compare them myself."
Her admiration seemed utterly genuine, though something flickered in her eyes for just a moment.
The table collectively leaned in. This was no longer idle gossip. This was the moment the knife was drawn.
"It's just..." Seraphina continued with the hesitant air of someone venturing into unfamiliar territory, "Lady Rosalind's marriage was arranged, wasn't it? So different from a gentleman who chooses his own bride after having... other options for years."
She looked around the table as if seeking confirmation. "When someone ends a long arrangement to marry another, that must mean something genuine?"
Her cheeks pinked slightly. "Though I suppose I'm puzzled by how some interpret such choices. Physical enthusiasm mistaken for deeper feeling?"
She shook her head with apparent bewilderment. "And using children to secure affections? It seems so... hopeful."
The table erupted. Lady Heloise covered her mouth, eyes wide with shock at such innocent-sounding devastation. Even prim Lady Vivienne looked stunned that such poison could be delivered with such apparent naivety. Lady Marcelle stared between Seraphina and Cordelia as if watching a lamb somehow best a wolf.
The journalist's pen had stilled completely, his eyes wide as he realized he was witnessing something far more scandalous than a simple tea party.
Evelyne's smile didn't falter, but her fingers tightened on her teacup. That wasn't the trembling girl who'd fled to the washroom this morning. This was something else entirely.
Had she misread her this morning? No. That was impossible.
"My word," someone whispered. "Did she just, ?"
"How remarkably... insightful," Lady Vivienne managed, clearly struggling to process what had just happened.
Cordelia went white as her lace dress, hands trembling as she realized she'd been thoroughly dismantled by someone who'd sounded genuinely confused the entire time. The careful mask she'd worn all afternoon finally cracked, revealing something ugly and desperate underneath.
She stood slowly, her chair scraping against stone with a sound like claws on glass.
For a beat, no one moved.
Seraphina didn't look away. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the way a queen might when faced with a fool who dared challenge her reign.
"You think you're so clever," Cordelia whispered, voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think that ring makes you untouchable?"
The temperature at the table seemed to drop several degrees. Even the garden fell still. No wind. No birdsong. Just waiting.
The journalist's pen hadn't moved in minutes. His eyes flicked between the women like he couldn't decide if he was watching a performance or a declaration of war.
Seraphina looked up at Cordelia with mild curiosity, as one might regard an interesting insect.
"I think," she said softly, "that you're about to say something you'll regret."
Cordelia's smile was sharp as broken glass. "The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner."
Seraphina's eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. "Thorns have always grown best beneath roses," she murmured, just loud enough for the table to hear.
The match had been struck.
And the next chapter would burn.