Everyone's talking.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Seraphina's chest went tight. Visibility was the last thing she needed. Everyone talking meant people asking questions. Questions meant investigation.
She kept smiling even though her hands wanted to shake. "Evelyne! How thoughtful of you to come."
Evelyne moved in for the embrace, all warmth and family affection. But when she leaned close, her whisper was ice-cold: "We need to talk, darling. About all your new... activities."
Fuck.
Marcus had gone still across the table. Alaric's knuckles were white where he gripped his chair.
This dinner just became a three-way war. And she was trapped in the middle.
"Lady Evelyne. You honor us with your presence," Alaric said, all perfect manners with calculating eyes.
Evelyne turned to Marcus like she'd just spotted prey. "And you must be the famous Lord Branthorne I've heard so much about."
Marcus stood and offered a perfect bow. "Lady Evelyne. Your reputation precedes you."
"I do so admire men of conscience," Evelyne said, taking her seat.
She said conscience like it was some kind of disease.
Survive first. Plan second.
"I was just telling Lord Branthorne about your recent successes," Alaric said, his tone carrying that familiar note of ownership. "Such impressive organizational skills."
"Our dear Seraphina has always been so... dedicated," Evelyne added, her smile precisely calibrated for maximum warmth and minimum sincerity. "Though I do worry she takes on too much responsibility sometimes."
First strike. Positioned as concern, delivered as criticism.
"I find purpose in meaningful work," Seraphina replied, letting her expression soften into grateful humility while her mind filed away the attack vector.
"Of course you do. Though some endeavors can be quite... overwhelming for those without experience."
Marcus's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "I've found the Duchess remarkably capable in all our discussions. Her insights have been invaluable."
Defending her.
The warmth that bloomed in Seraphina's chest was both genuine and dangerous. Marcus's faith in her abilities felt like armor against Evelyne's subtle cuts.
She noticed the slight shift in Evelyne's posture. The recalibration of someone whose initial strategy had met unexpected resistance.
"You know," Evelyne said, turning to Seraphina with predatory focus, "I've been meaning to ask about your recent... activities, cousin. Such long hours away from the estate."
As she spoke, Seraphina felt the familiar oily touch of charm magic pressing against her consciousness. Testing her defenses, probing for weakness.
The magic slid off her consciousness completely, but she let herself pause, blinking slowly as if fighting through sudden confusion. When she spoke, she allowed uncertainty to creep into her voice.
"I... you might be right," Seraphina said, her tone wavering between confidence and manufactured doubt. "I haven't been sleeping well lately. Maybe I am... pushing too hard."
She carefully rubbed her temple, mimicking the physical tell someone under partial magical influence might display.
Evelyne's satisfaction was almost visible. But her attention had already shifted to Marcus, reassessing his value with cold precision.
"Lord Branthorne," she said, pivoting with fluid grace, "I understand congratulations are in order. Your recent ventures have been quite... profitable."
"Fortune has been kind," Marcus replied modestly.
"The third richest man in the empire, I'm told," Evelyne pressed.
Alaric's fork paused. Third richest. The words shifted the entire dynamic.
Seraphina watched Evelyne's strategy crystallize. She's making a play for Marcus herself. Not to control Seraphina through him, to take him entirely. And Alaric's white knuckles said he recognized the betrayal.
"Your mining ventures sound absolutely thrilling," Evelyne said, leaning forward with calculated fascination. "Such dangerous work, though. I imagine it requires tremendous... focus."
Seraphina felt that oily sensation again. Charm magic. But this wasn't the broad influence Evelyne had used on her, this was seductive. Intoxicating.
Marcus blinked, his expression flickering. "It does require focus, yes. But the rewards make it worthwhile."
It didn't take. Yet.
"Fascinating," Evelyne murmured, fingers brushing her wine glass stem in a way that drew the eye. "And you manage all this while maintaining your charitable interests? Such... admirable dedication."
Another wave of magic, stronger this time. Instead of clinical manipulation, this carried warmth, desire, the promise of understanding.
Marcus paused mid-sentence. "I... yes, it's important to give back..."
His voice had changed. Softer. More intimate.
Seraphina's chest constricted. No. Not like this.
"I believe those with advantages have obligations," Marcus continued, but something was wrong with the cadence. Too careful. Like someone concentrating on remembering lines.
"How noble," Evelyne murmured, and her fingers briefly touched Marcus's hand across the table. Just a whisper of contact, but enough to seal the magical influence with physical touch.
Marcus went very still.
Seraphina watched, helpless, as the light behind his eyes... dimmed. Not gone, just redirected. To her. To Evelyne.
He blinked once. Twice. Then looked at Evelyne like he was seeing sunlight for the first time.
"Lady Evelyne," he said quietly, voice thick with newfound fascination, "I find myself hoping we'll have more opportunities to discuss... philosophy."
Those weren't his words. The sentiment might have been genuine, but the magical influence had shaped it, directed it. She was watching him forget who he was supposed to be.
He didn't betray me. He was stolen, rewired, and handed back like nothing had changed.
"Exactly," Evelyne purred. "I do so enjoy meaningful conversations with people of substance."
Marcus nodded, attention fixed entirely on Evelyne now. "As do I. Perhaps you might allow me to call on you? I find myself... curious about your other insights."
"Perhaps," Evelyne said with triumph disguised as modesty. "I'm sure my cousin wouldn't mind sharing her friends."
The transformation was complete. Marcus turned toward Seraphina with polite but distant attention. "Your Grace, you're fortunate to have such a wise cousin. Lady Evelyne clearly has much to offer."
Each word was surgical precision, cutting away weeks of partnership, respect, shared vision. He looked at her now like she was furniture. Pretty, useful furniture that someone more important had mentioned in passing.
Charm magic doesn't seduce, it amputates.
Seraphina smiled. The right smile for furniture. Inside, fracture lines spread. Every shared secret now lived behind Evelyne's eyes.
But inside, something was cracking. He forgot me. Not who I am, who I was to him. The partnership, the respect, the possibility of something more. Gone. Surgically removed and replaced with polite indifference.
She smiled with serene acceptance while her mind began calculating new pathways forward. Marcus is no longer an asset. He's a security breach. Every secret she'd shared, every plan they'd discussed, now belonged to Evelyne.
Clinical grief. That's what this is. Processing devastating loss through strategic analysis because that's the only way to survive it.
The evening would continue. She would play her role perfectly, gather what intelligence she could, and begin planning her next moves.
And Evelyne had just made two critical errors, she had revealed the full extent of her capabilities while making an enemy of the most dangerous man in the room. Alaric's hand rested near his knife, his eyes promising consequences for the woman who'd just seduced another man in his presence.
Light footsteps approached from the service corridor. Elena appeared in the doorway, silver tray balanced perfectly, fresh wine and delicate pastries arranged with meticulous care.
Seraphina's mind raced through possibilities, calculations, desperate contingencies. The traitorous maid who had been reporting her every move to Evelyne, who had no idea she was walking into a battlefield where loyalties were about to be tested.
She's next.
I'm sorry, Elena. I'm sorry, Marcus.