"Not true."
The words cut through the room.
Seraphina stood frozen in the Grand Assembly Hall. Every eye turned toward her. The room went silent.
So this is what Evelyne was scheming.
Near the stage, Evelyne's smile spread wider. Finally. This will ruin her.
Yona and Liora stood by the refreshment tables they'd coordinated all evening. Both went still. Alert.
Marcus glanced uncertainly at the podium. The charity coordinator seemed confused. "Lord Branthorne?"
Evelyne walked up the stage steps without invitation. Emerald dress catching light. She placed her hand on Marcus's arm with intimate familiarity.
"What Lord Branthorne struggles to say is difficult," Evelyne announced. "I've been aware of pressures my cousin placed on him. Private meetings beyond professional boundaries. Inappropriate advances during charity planning."
Nobles erupted in whispers.
"She used her status to manipulate," Evelyne continued with fake sadness. "Made him uncomfortable. Invented fantasies about pledges that never existed."
Gravenor's voice came from beside Seraphina. Quiet. Dangerous. "Is this true?"
"No," she said steadily.
"My cousin is delusional," Evelyne said. "A duchess so desperate she can't distinguish reality from wishful thinking."
Seraphina kept her face calm even as her dress fabric pressed against her ribs with each controlled breath. Because Marcus's jaw was tight. His posture wrong.
Evelyne turned to him. "Tell them. You're safe now."
Marcus studied Evelyne. Then the crowd. Then found Seraphina's eyes.
His face changed. Cold. Sharp.
"Actually, Lady Evelyne. You're mistaken."
Evelyne's smile froze.
"About everything."
Marcus stepped away from her. Took a breath. "I am making a pledge. But not fifty thousand gold." He paused, hand running through his hair as if composing himself. "I'm pledging eighty thousand gold to Duchess Vessant's orphanage project."
The crowd exploded.
Evelyne's face went white. Then red.
"I've worked with Duchess Vessant for months," Marcus said, voice steadying. "Not through manipulation, as Lady Evelyne suggests. But... no. I should be precise. Through professional sessions where her intelligence and dedication became impossible to ignore. Every meeting was proper. Every discussion documented. The Duchess never pressured me. Her work inspired me to increase my pledge from fifty to eighty thousand."
He watched Evelyne directly. "The only person who made me uncomfortable is the woman spreading lies about a duchess whose charity saves children's lives."
Applause erupted. Not scandal against Seraphina. Vindication.
Whispers started. Fragmented. Sharp.
"... always near Alaric... "
"Did you see the way she... "
"Her own cousin's husband... "
One older nobleman shook his head and walked away, muttering something about family disgrace. Another hesitated, glancing between Marcus and the stage, uncertain.
But most of the nobles leaned in, eager for scandal.
"Every court function, clinging to him like... "
The gossip spread like wildfire through the crowd, each noble adding their own observations about Evelyne's affair with Alaric. Her true motives laid bare.
Evelyne stumbled backward. Face burning.
She turned to flee. Collided with a servant carrying wine. The impact sent her stumbling and red wine splashed across her emerald dress, down her bodice, across her skirt in dark spreading stains that looked almost like blood against the silk. The sharp smell of sour wine rose as jeweled hairpins scattered from her hair, hitting the marble floor with small metallic clinks like broken teeth.
Gasps turned to barely suppressed laughter. A younger noblewoman murmured, "Poor thing," even as she hid her smile behind her fan.
Evelyne gathered her ruined skirts and ran. Wine dripping. Whispers and laughter following.
Yona caught Liora's eye across the ballroom. Both allowed small satisfied smiles.
Marcus made his way toward Seraphina. Caelan moved to her side immediately. Gravenor stood close. Protective.
"Duchess Vessant." Marcus took her hand. Brought it to his lips.
Through their bond, Seraphina felt Caelan's tension. His dislike of the gesture. But also gratitude.
Gravenor's features shifted as he watched the men. Understanding the dynamics.
"Lord Branthorne," Gravenor said. "Quite a performance."
"Duke Gravenor." Marcus nodded respectfully.
"How?" Seraphina whispered. "But when I saw you with Evelyne... I saw the brooch on the table. I thought it was too late."
Marcus's hand trembled slightly as he pulled out a small silver brooch from inside his jacket. "I had multiple copies made. That one was a spare in case I lost the original. I've been wearing the real one every day, hidden where no one could see it."
"So you were always protected."
"Always." His voice caught. "When Evelyne tried her charm magic, it slid off harmlessly. But I played along. Let her think it worked." He met Seraphina's eyes with something raw in his expression. "There were moments I almost believed her myself. The magic was strong. But every time I felt it pulling at me, I'd remember your warning and the weight of the brooch against my chest."
He paused. "I made contingency plans with my sister Clara and Thomas. They watched me constantly when Evelyne was present. Every attempted encounter was interrupted. I wasn't alone in this."
Seraphina stared at him. The planning. The acting. The emotional toll of pretending to be charmed for days while maintaining that performance. "That's brilliant," she said softly. "You played her completely. Every day maintaining that performance."
Marcus's face warmed at her praise.
"And you did all of that..." Her chest grew tight with gratitude. "You went through all that trouble. For me. For what we built."
"You warned me," he said simply. "You tried to protect me even when you thought I was lost. How could I do any less?"
Relief flooded through her. Not just that he was safe. That he'd trusted her enough to plan so carefully.
Gravenor cleared his throat. "Can I have one of those brooches?"
The tension broke slightly. Marcus nodded. "I'll have my craftsman make you one, Your Grace."
"Perhaps we should discuss coordination," Gravenor said, shifting back to business. "There may be other ways our resources can align."
The subtext was clear. Territory being marked.
Marcus met Gravenor's eyes. "I'm always open to productive partnerships."
Then Marcus turned back to Seraphina. His gaze held something more than business. "Duchess, my commitment to you extends far beyond business. I care about your success. About you. Perhaps more than is wise. More than I should... "
The emphasis wasn't subtle.
Gravenor stepped closer. "I've made my position clear. You're not just an ally to me, Duchess. You're someone worth fighting for. Worth protecting. Worth everything." His hand moved to her shoulder. Possessive.
Both men watched Seraphina with obvious intent. Not hiding their interest.
Caelan's cool demeanor cracked. Just for a moment. His jaw went rigid. Magic flickered at his fingertips before he controlled it.
But Marcus saw it. So did Gravenor.
Recognition passed between all three men. Silent acknowledgment of rivalry.
"If you'll excuse me," Marcus said. "Contract details to handle."
He bowed and left.
Gravenor studied him as he went. "Interesting man. Clearly devoted."
The emphasis made Caelan's fingers dig into her elbow.
"We should circulate," Gravenor said. "Reinforce the victory."
As they moved through the crowd, Caelan's tension bled through their bond. His control barely holding.
After several minutes of congratulations, Caelan leaned close. "I need air."
His voice was rough. Strained.
"The balcony," Seraphina said quietly.
They slipped away. Through a side door. Onto a private balcony overlooking the gardens.
The cool night air hit them. Caelan moved to the railing. His hands gripped the stone so hard small cracks spiderwebbed beneath his palms before he forced himself to ease his grip.
"They're not subtle," he said. Voice strained.
"Caelan..."
"Gravenor touching you. Marcus watching you like that." He turned. "I felt what you felt through our bond. You weren't uncomfortable. You let them."
"They're allies."
"Are they?" His eyes burned. "Because it felt like more."
She moved closer. "They can declare whatever intentions they want. It doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?"
"If it bothers you," she said carefully, "I'll break off the alliances. Marcus's pledge. Gravenor's support. All of it."
"No." The word came out sharp. "You need them. The resources. The protection."
"Then what do you want?"
He studied her. Eyes searching. Looking for truth. "I want them to know you're not available."
"I'm married."
"That's not what I mean."
The bond between them pulsed. His jealousy. Her understanding. The complications neither could voice.
"You can feel what I feel," she said softly. "Through the bond. You know the truth."
She stepped against him. Close enough to see his pulse at his throat, to smell the faint scent of magic and night air that clung to him.
"So feel this."
She kissed him. Not the careful, testing kiss from before, but something deeper and more certain, the way their bond had been screaming for all evening, like she needed him to feel what words couldn't say.
He made a sound... half surprise, half hunger. His hands caught her waist, dragging her close until nothing fit between them.
The bond fractured open between them, raw and unfiltered... her certainty flooding through, his hunger finally breaking loose.
When she pulled back, he watched her with dazed eyes.
"You felt that," she said. "What I feel. What's real."
Her voice didn't even shake, not once, because she'd already decided... he was the choice. "I chose you. Not them. You. Whatever Gravenor or Marcus think they want, you know the truth."
His forehead pressed against hers. "I do."
The bond settled. Stronger now. More solid. The moment cementing something between them.
They stood there. The night quiet around them except for distant music from the ballroom and the rustle of garden leaves below.
Finally, he stepped back. "We should return."
She nodded. But neither moved immediately.
When they finally went back inside, the gala was winding down. Nobles departing. Staff cleaning.
Seraphina scanned the room. Then froze.
A man stood near the entrance. Plain clothes. Not noble. Not servant. Something else.
He was watching her. Writing in a small leather journal.
When he noticed her staring, he didn't glance away. Just let his mouth curve slightly, ink smudged on his thumb. Snapped the journal shut. A servant passed between them carrying a tray, and when Seraphina's view cleared, he was gone.
"Caelan."
"I saw him." His voice went sharp.