A sharp knock jolted Arven awake.
He blinked against the faint light filtering through the thin curtains of the servant quarters. The rough mattress beneath him creaked as he shifted, groaning.
The door opened before he could rise fully.
Daisy stood there, arms crossed, crimson eyes hard.
"Get up," she said. "Lady Celyne wants to see you."
Arven ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear the fog of sleep.
"That was fast," he muttered. "What happened to refusing her, like you said?"
Daisy's gaze flickered. For a moment, her proud mask faltered.
"We were chosen," she said quietly. "There was no refusal."
Arven caught the bitterness in her tone.
"So we are pawns now," he said.
Daisy gave a curt nod. "Hurry. We should not keep her waiting."
Arven dressed quickly, heart already beating faster.
Something about this felt different. Dangerous.
The corridors of the mansion were unusually quiet as they walked. Servants kept their heads down, scattering out of the way. A few glanced at them with pity. Others looked away entirely.
Daisy walked stiffly beside him, her usual grace muted by tension.
Neither spoke at first.
After a few turns, Arven asked softly, "You know her better than I do. What should I expect?"
Daisy's expression darkened.
"Control," she said. "She does not want lovers. She wants tools. And she breaks the ones that fail."
The words sent a chill through him.
They reached a tall pair of double doors guarded by two stone-faced men.
Without a word, the guards opened them.
Lady Celyne's private chambers were larger than Arven expected.
Instead of a typical noble's parlor, the room resembled a private training hall. The floors were polished wood. One side of the room held a rack of swords, daggers, and strange curved blades. The other had fine cushions and low tables stacked neatly with scrolls.
At the center of the space, Celyne moved with lethal grace.
Clad in a simple black tunic and tight trousers, her long purple hair tied loosely, she danced through the air with a slender blade in hand.
Each strike was precise, controlled. Sweat glistened on her pale skin, her movements utterly focused.
For a moment, neither Arven nor Daisy dared interrupt.
Then Celyne finished her sequence with a smooth final slash, lowering the blade to her side.
Her violet gaze flicked toward them.
"Come in," she said simply.
They obeyed.
Celyne set her sword aside and came forward, her pace slow and sure.
"Daisy," she said, voice calm. "Clean this sweat."
Daisy stiffened but obeyed. She retrieved a cloth from the side table and moved closer.
As Daisy wiped the thin sheen of sweat from Celyne's neck and shoulders, Arven could not help but notice the subtle tension between them.
Celyne's eyes gleamed faintly with amusement as Daisy's cheeks reddened. Her fingers trembled slightly as she worked.
Arven kept his face neutral, though his pulse quickened.
The cold heiress was not playing at being seductive. She was asserting dominance.
Once satisfied, Celyne turned her full attention to Arven.
She closed the distance between them, stopping only a hand's breadth away.
Up close, her presence was even more intense. Her eyes searched his face, sharp and calculating.
"You are not from here," she said softly.
Arven held her gaze.
"Red hair," she continued. "Taller than most of my father's wretches. Not the build of a common servant."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Where are you from?"
For a split second, Arven's mind raced.
He could not tell her the truth. He had no believable story prepared.
Silence stretched between them.
Celyne's lips curved into a faint smile.
"That is fine," she said. "Everyone has secrets."
She turned away, crossing to the low table.
"You will serve me now."
Arven's brow furrowed. "In what way?"
Celyne poured a glass of water, sipped it, then faced him again.
"You will play the role of a 'spy'," she said bluntly.
Arven blinked. "Why me?"
Celyne set the glass down with a quiet clink.
"You attract eyes," she said. "You do not belong here, and they know it. You are already being watched."
She folded her arms.
"I will use that."
Daisy's eyes flicked to Arven, tension in her jaw.
Celyne continued smoothly.
"Your only task is pretty simple. My father's closest confidante is the Head Maid. You may have noticed her. Always at his side. Mariel."
Arven nodded once.
Celyne's gaze sharpened.
"She rarely leaves him. But sometimes, late at night, she slips away. To indulge herself with the lower servants."
Her voice was cool, clinical.
"But she never lingers long. Just enough to satisfy her urges."
Arven felt a pulse of unease.
Celyne's smile returned, faint but knowing.
"When she does, make her choose you. Keep her occupied. Hold her attention."
Arven frowned. "For what purpose?"
Celyne's expression remained unreadable.
"That is not your concern. You will buy me time. Nothing more."
Arven's mind worked fast. This was dangerous. Playing with someone as close to Lord Pracius as Mariel was a risk.
But refusing was not an option.
A faint pulse from the System echoed in his awareness.
Engagement path triggered.
Source alignment shifting.
Arven took a slow breath.
"Understood," he said.
Celyne's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Good."
She stepped closer again, voice lower.
"Do not disappoint me."
Turning away, she dismissed them with a small wave.
"You may go."
Outside the chamber, the doors closed behind them with a heavy thud.
Daisy walked beside him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
"You are in deeper than you know," she said quietly.
Arven gave a faint smile.
"I know."
In truth, he felt the same spark as before.
The game was moving faster now.
And he intended to survive it.