Forty-three marriage proposals sat on Seraphina's desk.
She could name every house seal. Couldn't name the ghost who'd watched her at the gala before vanishing into the crowd. One of these men might be connected. One of them might have sent the watcher.
Her fire-scars burned steady beneath her sleeves as she swept the correspondence aside. Two trials completed. One remaining, Whitehall Sanctum, where the Flame of Sacrifice waited in her family's blood-locked vault.
But first she had to survive today.
Two more days until the demon invasion hit the borders. And somewhere beyond that, the seventh moon deadline, she'd complete the trials or reality itself would collapse.
The bond hummed with Caelan's presence next door, already awake, his awareness of her warm and constant, steadying her against the chaos.
After the trials. After the war. Then we'll have time.
She headed for the war room, knowing the promise might be one she couldn't keep.
The war room was chaos when she arrived.
"My lady." Yona looked up from the table covered in papers. "We have a problem."
"How bad?"
"Forty-three alliance proposals, all sitting on your desk." Yona gestured at the mess. "We'll drown in correspondence before the week ends."
Liora added from the corner where she'd been reviewing security reports, "Security concern as well. Too many eyes after the gala. We need better coordination."
The door opened and Caelan entered, his military bearing cutting through the civilian chaos.
Their eyes met. The bond flared hot between them.
The team exchanged knowing glances. Yona cleared her throat deliberately.
Seraphina forced her attention back to the problem at hand. "We expand operations. Today."
"I have people," Yona said, her tone shifting to business. "Ysandra's been training specialists at the bakery. They think they're doing corporate intelligence work for merchant clients."
"How many?"
"Four, ready to activate immediately."
Caelan moved closer to the table. "What do they know about the real operation?"
"They know their work is sensitive and discretion matters." Yona met Seraphina's eyes directly. "They don't know the bakery is cover for an intelligence network. Time to show them what we really do."
Seraphina considered the risk. More people meant more vulnerability. It also meant better survival odds against mounting threats.
"Send for them."
Less than an hour later, footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.
The door opened and a massive man entered first, his scarred hands and watchful eyes cataloging every exit before he even looked at her. Former military, Seraphina guessed from the way he moved.
"Sir Dorian." He bowed. "Ysandra said you needed someone who keeps things safe." His attention swept the room, taking in the weapons hanging on walls, the tactical maps, the intelligence reports scattered across surfaces. When his eyes returned to hers, his expression had shifted. "This isn't about bread."
"No," Seraphina said. "This is about survival."
A slim figure slipped in behind him, so unremarkable Seraphina almost overlooked him. Plain features, forgettable face, the kind of person who could disappear in a crowd. His eyes were sharp and calculating as they scanned the documents on the table.
"Siran. No last name offered." Those sharp eyes gleamed with interest. "I assume the real work beats stealing recipes?"
Across the room, Jorin straightened slightly with professional recognition passing between intelligence operatives.
"Much more interesting," Seraphina confirmed. She gestured at the maps. "Multiple threats converging. Unknown watcher from the gala who vanished without trace. Rival houses positioning for advantage while my marriage dissolves. Demon war exploding at the borders in three days. And beneath all that, a cosmic deadline weeks away that threatens reality itself if I fail to complete the remaining trial."
"Threat assessment?" Dorian asked, his tone clipped and military efficient.
"Immediate: demon invasion," Caelan said with his jaw tight. "Long-term: barrier collapse if the seventh moon passes before trials are complete. The watcher has unknown objectives, professional execution, no clear allegiance."
Siran studied the intelligence reports, his fingers hovering over papers without quite touching them. "Sounds like my kind of work."
"It's deadly work," Jorin added from his position by the window, his tone dry. "But we're very good at deadly."
Dorian glanced at Siran with some unspoken communication passing between them, then back at Seraphina. "Give us a day to assess the situation. We'll let you know our decision."
Seraphina nodded. Smart approach, they weren't jumping in blind just because Ysandra vouched for her.
A knock interrupted before she could respond. Two more women entered, both carrying ledgers and correspondence.
The first curtsied briefly, then immediately started reorganizing the papers on the table without asking permission. Her hands moved with quick, efficient precision.
"Amara. I coordinate events for noble houses under the guise of catering services." She didn't look up from her sorting. "If you need information from court functions, social gatherings, or private dinners, I can get it."
The second woman set down her ledgers with careful precision, then surveyed the room with the same assessing gaze Dorian had used. When she met Seraphina's eyes, her expression was carefully neutral.
"Lyria. Operations manager." She looked around at everything, the weapons, the maps, the faces of people she'd thought were just bakers. "This isn't about pastries either, is it?"
"No."
Lyria's hands stayed on her ledgers without opening them yet. "How dangerous are we talking?"
"People die," Caelan said flatly, with no hesitation and no softening the truth.
Silence stretched through the room.
Lyria looked at the maps, the weapons, the intelligence reports, then back at Seraphina. "I have a daughter. Eight years old."
Seraphina held her gaze without flinching. "Then you understand exactly what we're protecting."
Another beat passed while Lyria's fingers drummed once against the leather cover of her ledger. Finally, she opened them and spread the pages across the table. "Show me what needs organizing."
Amara was still reorganizing papers, completely ignoring the tension in the room. She hadn't asked permission to touch anything, just started working. "When do we start?"
"You already have," Seraphina said.
Seraphina moved to stand at the head of the table, facing the expanded team. Some old faces, some new, all of them watching her with varying degrees of curiosity and calculation.
"You've been working for a bakery. The bakery is cover for an intelligence network." She let that sink in, watching recognition dawn on the new faces. "What we do here determines whether I survive the next few weeks. Whether any of us do."
Some of them nodded, having already suspected something like this.
Dorian crossed his arms over his broad chest. "We need time to consider this properly."
"No," Siran said while still studying the maps, his attention focused on the marked demon activity patterns. "We're in. I can see the threat assessment clearly enough. Delaying just makes everything worse."
Dorian looked at him, then at Seraphina, something passing between the two men. "Fine. We're in."
The room shifted. Decision made.
Work began immediately.
Lyria spread papers across the table with methodical precision. "Forty-three proposals. I've already categorized them by political urgency and risk level." Everything was color-coded, cross-referenced, annotated in her precise handwriting.
Seraphina's hands tightened on the table edge as she looked at the organized chaos. "They saw three powerful men pledge themselves to me publicly while I'm still married. Word is spreading that divorce might be coming. Now everyone wants to plant their seeds early, be first in line when I'm finally free."
"Marriage speculation is absolutely wild in the merchant quarter," Amara added without looking up from her sorting. "All three of your suitors are the subject of constant gossip. The speculation won't stop anytime soon."
A courier burst through the door, slightly out of breath, carrying new correspondence. From Gravenor with his personal seal.
Seraphina broke the wax and read quickly. Another letter, more pressure, more positioning.
Across the room, Caelan's jaw tightened. The bond carried his spike of heat and possession before she even glanced his way.
She crossed to him and touched his hand briefly, just her fingers against his knuckles.
His jaw loosened and the heat backed down to something manageable, though it didn't disappear completely.
The team pretended not to notice. They failed spectacularly.
"Can we talk?" She moved toward the window where afternoon light streamed in.
Caelan followed. The team gave them space without needing to be asked.
"I can feel you," she said quietly. "Even in a room full of people who don't know about the bond."
His hand covered hers on the windowsill, warm and solid. "Always."
The bond let her sense his thoughts clearly. The balcony kiss replaying in his mind on endless repeat, the way she'd looked at him, the way she'd felt in his arms.
"You felt it," she'd told him last night after they'd returned from the gala. "What I feel for you. What's real between us."
He had felt it completely and without question.
"I've never had this." Her voice dropped lower, meant only for him despite the people working behind them. "Someone who knows the truth about me and stays anyway."
The bond carried his answer back to her, clear and certain.
Always. Forever. Whatever comes.
"After the trials. After the war." She believed it now with her whole heart. "We'll have time."
"My lady." Jorin spoke from the doorway, his tone apologetic for the interruption. "Watcher intelligence has been updated."
The moment ended but the promise remained.
The full team gathered around the main table, attention focused on Jorin as he laid out new reports.
"Professional ghost," he said without preamble. "No identification through any of our standard channels. No one matching the description in any database."
"My underground contacts came up empty as well," Siran added, having been working his own networks simultaneously. "No one's bragging about surveillance work at a gala of that caliber. Someone's enforcing silence."
Seraphina's stomach twisted. Whoever paid that watcher had resources. Enough to erase every trace. Enough to buy silence across multiple intelligence networks.
"Threat level: high," Dorian assessed, his military training evident in how quickly he categorized danger. "Unknown objective makes them unpredictable."
"Increase all security protocols immediately," Caelan ordered, his voice carrying command weight. "Dorian handles personal protection coordination. Siran activates deeper intelligence networks, whatever contacts you need."
"We flag this as an active ongoing threat," Seraphina decided. "But we don't let it stop operations or delay the trial."
The team dispersed to execute orders, moving with purpose now that roles were assigned.
Lyria presented the next briefing with maps showing routes marked in different colors.
"One location for the remaining trial. Two days maximum travel time if we push hard and roads stay clear." She indicated the marked location. "Whitehall Sanctum."
"But that's assuming optimal conditions," Liora added grimly. "With demon activity escalating along travel routes, we should plan for complications."
"Security detail for the journey?" Dorian asked the obvious question everyone was thinking.
"Both of us," Caelan said firmly. His tone left no room for argument. "I'm accompanying her to Whitehall."
"Then Dorian provides advance security at each stop," Liora adapted quickly. "Siran gathers intelligence along the route."
"When do you leave for Whitehall?" Caelan asked.
"Two days," Seraphina said. "We leave together."
The team accepted the parameters and began detailed planning for the journey.
Dinner became the team's first meal together as the war room converted to dining space, though maps still covered half the surfaces.
Conversations overlapped as people sorted themselves into natural groups.
Yona leaned toward Lyria with travel maps between their plates. "The route to Whitehall. Which approach do you think is safest?"
"Depends on demon activity patterns over the next few days," Lyria said, already calculating. "We'll need to stay flexible, ready to adapt if our planned route becomes compromised."
Across the table, Liora and Dorian compared security protocols with the intensity of people who'd both seen combat.
"Perimeter checks every two hours minimum with rotating guard positions," Liora said.
"Weapon caches at each planned stop," Dorian added. "Hidden but accessible, in case something goes wrong and we need to fight our way out."
Jorin and Siran were deep in discussion about dead drops and contact protocols, hand signals, coded messages, backup communication methods if primary channels failed.
Amara entertained half the table with court gossip delivered in a deadpan voice. "Lord Trenton's mistress is actually the Countess of Meridian's younger brother in an elaborate disguise."
"Absolutely not." Yona looked up, genuinely shocked.
"Absolute verified truth. When that scandal finally breaks, half the noble court will implode spectacularly."
Laughter started around the table, breaking some of the tension. Then Siran spoke up, his voice cutting through the noise.
"How do we know this isn't a trap?"
The laughter died instantly.
Everyone looked at him.
"We don't know you," Siran continued with his eyes fixed on Seraphina. "You pulled us from a comfortable bakery cover into this life-or-death operation. What if you're the actual threat we should be worried about?"
Silence fell heavy over the room.
Caelan's hand moved toward his weapon while Jorin tensed in his seat, ready to act.
Seraphina held up one hand and met Siran's gaze directly without flinching.
"You're absolutely right to question everything. That's exactly why Ysandra chose you for this work." She leaned forward slightly. "I can't prove I'm trustworthy with words. I can only tell you what I'm fighting for, survival against forces that want me dead or controlled. My choice is fight or submit. I chose to fight."
"The watcher from the gala," Siran said. "Could be you they want. Could be all of us guilty by association."
"Could be," Seraphina agreed without hesitation. "That's the risk you take working here. I won't lie about the danger. People have died. More will die. But we'll fight to make sure it's not us."
Another beat of tense silence passed. Then Siran nodded slowly, deliberately. "Just needed to hear you say it honestly."
The tension broke and the team looked different now, sharper, more real, bound by something more than just orders.
"The scandal will be spectacular," Amara finished quietly, returning to her previous story. "They'll be talking about it for years."
No one laughed this time. The moment had shifted something fundamental in the room.
Seraphina watched them all, this collection of people who'd become her team, something worth defending if they all survived long enough.