"Darling!"
The voice cut through their conversation like a blade.
No.
Seraphina's mind raced. How much had he heard? How long had he been looking for her?
But Caelan was already moving, his posture shifting subtly. The collaborative partner vanished, replaced by something else entirely.
"Well," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "I suppose some people find charity work... fulfilling. How quaint."
What? Seraphina blinked, then caught on. He was giving her an excuse.
"Better than doing nothing while people suffer," she shot back, letting ice creep into her voice. "But I suppose that requires actual compassion."
"Compassion?" Caelan's laugh was harsh, mocking. "Is that what we're calling desperate attempts for attention these days?"
"There you are," Alaric said, reaching her side and sliding an arm around her waist. His lips claimed hers before she could draw breath, a clear marking of territory in front of the watching crowd. "I've been searching everywhere for you."
From the corner of her eye, Seraphina caught the subtle movement of Caelan's hand clenching into a fist at his side. So brief, so controlled, that no one else would notice.
But she did.
His grip was possessive, proprietary. His wife. His property that had wandered off and needed to be reclaimed.
"I was just having a... discussion with Duke Vorenthal," she said, letting genuine annoyance show in her voice. "About his apparent belief that helping people is beneath him."
"I never said beneath," Caelan corrected with cutting precision. "I said pointless. And attention-seeking. There's a difference."
"How enlightening. And here I thought basic human decency was universal."
"Human decency?" His tone turned arctic. "How refreshingly naive. Tell me, Duchess, do you actually believe your little performances make any real difference? Or is this just another way to play the tragic saint?"
"At least I'm not hiding behind cynicism to justify my complete lack of empathy," she snapped back. "Though I suppose when you spend your life behind a mask, authentic feeling becomes... foreign."
Perfect. She'd hit exactly where it would hurt most.
Alaric's eyebrows rose as he looked between them, clearly delighted by the venom in their exchange. "Sounded more like a war from where I was standing."
Exactly what we needed. He thought they were genuinely fighting, not plotting.
Alaric's arm tightened around her waist, and his satisfaction burned through the touch. His clever wife, holding her own against a duke.
"My wife has a point, Vorenthal," Alaric said, stepping deeper into the conversation. "Though I suspect your reluctance to engage in charity has more to do with personal... limitations."
Oh no. She could hear the cruel edge creeping into Alaric's voice. The tone that meant he was about to draw blood.
"Limitations?" Caelan's voice remained perfectly neutral, but she caught the slight tension in his jaw.
"Well," Alaric's smile was sharp, predatory, "it must be difficult to show your face at public events when... well."
He gestured vaguely at Caelan's mask.
The crowd around them went silent. Shit. People were listening now, drawn by the scent of social warfare.
"Alaric," Seraphina said softly, putting a warning in her voice. Not because she disapproved, but because a good wife would try to rein in her husband's cruelty. Even when she secretly agreed with it.
"No, it's quite alright," Caelan said, his tone remaining infuriatingly calm. "Lord Vessant raises an interesting point about appearances."
Don't take the bait. Don't let him provoke you.
"After all," Caelan continued, "it takes tremendous confidence to appear in public when everyone knows exactly what you look like underneath."
Oh. The insult was so subtle, so perfectly delivered, that it took Alaric a moment to catch it.
Everyone knows what you look like underneath. Implying that Alaric's true nature was visible to all, while Caelan's remained hidden.
Murmurs rippled through the watching crowd. Appreciation for the skillful verbal thrust mixed with anticipation for Alaric's response.
Alaric's grip on her waist tightened. "At least I'm not hiding behind a mask like some... disfigured coward."
Gasps echoed around them. Too far. Even for social warfare, that was brutal.
But Caelan just smiled, or at least, the visible part of his mouth curved upward. "You're quite right, Lord Vessant. I am hiding. The question is... what are you hiding behind?"
Perfect. The question hung in the air like a blade, cutting deep without drawing obvious blood.
And it was their cue to end this.
"Gentlemen," Seraphina said, stepping forward slightly, "perhaps we should, "
"Yes," Caelan agreed, straightening. "I believe I've imposed on your evening long enough. Duchess Vessant, Lord Vessant."
He bowed perfectly, the gesture somehow managing to be both respectful and dismissive.
"Until next time."
Next time. When they'd pretend to hate each other again while planning the future.
As Caelan melted back into the crowd, Alaric turned to her with obvious pride.
"Well done," he said, his voice warm with approval. "I wasn't sure you had it in you to take on someone like Vorenthal."
Take on someone like Vorenthal. Right. If only he knew how well she'd taken him on.
"He was being insufferably condescending," she said, playing the role of offended wife. "Someone had to put him in his place."
"And you did it beautifully." Alaric's hand moved to her face, cupping her cheek possessively.
She let him. She had to. But her spine stiffened at the contact, barely noticeable. She hoped.
"I'm proud of you."
Proud. Like she was a trained dog who'd performed a clever trick.
"You're brilliant, you know that?" he continued, his voice dropping to something more intimate. "Sharp as a blade when you want to be."
When I want to be. When it served his purposes.
"I've always had teeth, Alaric," she said softly. "You just liked it better when I bit my tongue."
"I notice everything about you now."
That's what I'm afraid of.
But before she could respond, he was kissing her. Deep, possessive, claiming. The kind of kiss that made a public statement about ownership.
Around them, she heard more gasps. Embarrassed gasps this time. The kind that came when people felt like they were intruding on something private.
Which was exactly the point.
Alaric was putting on a show. Demonstrating to everyone in the room that his wife belonged to him completely. That she was passionate, devoted, utterly his.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction. "I love you," he said, loud enough for nearby listeners to hear.
I love you. Words that should have meant everything and instead felt like chains.
"I love you too," she replied, because that's what the performance required.
And because if she didn't say it, if she hesitated for even a moment, someone might notice.
The crowd around them began to disperse, some looking charmed by the display of marital devotion, others looking faintly uncomfortable.
Mission accomplished. Alaric had marked his territory, and she'd played the perfect besotted wife.
"Lord Vessant! Duchess Vessant!"
They turned to see a middle-aged nobleman approaching, his smile bright and eager. Everything about him screamed courtier, from his perfectly arranged hair to his expensively understated clothing.
"Lord Aldric Thorne," the man said, bowing deeply. "What a pleasure to finally meet you both."
Finally? Seraphina studied his face, trying to place him. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't remember from where.
"Lord Thorne," Alaric said, extending his hand. "The pleasure is ours."
"I've been hoping for a chance to introduce myself," Thorne continued, his enthusiasm seeming genuine. "I've heard such wonderful things about your leadership, your vision for the future."
Flattery. And laying it on thick.
"You're too kind," Alaric replied, but she could see him preening under the praise.
"Not at all! Your approach to governance, your handling of the mining contracts, brilliant, absolutely brilliant. And now this charitable work!" He turned to Seraphina with an even brighter smile. "Your wife's efforts are inspiring the entire nobility to greater generosity."
More flattery. But there was something about the way he said it that felt... off. Too polished. Too practiced.
"You flatter us, Lord Thorne," she said carefully.
"Merely speaking truth, Your Grace. In fact, I was hoping we might find time to discuss some mutual interests. I believe I could be of service to you both."
Service. Interesting word choice.
"What kind of service?" Alaric asked, his interest clearly piqued.
"Oh, various matters. Political alliances, economic opportunities, information gathering..." Thorne's smile never wavered. "I have extensive connections throughout the realm. Connections that might prove... useful."
Information gathering. That was an odd thing to offer at a charity gala.
"That sounds intriguing," Alaric said. "Perhaps we could arrange a private meeting to discuss specifics."
"I would be delighted. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon? I could visit your estate."
He wanted to come to their estate. To see their security, their routine, their vulnerabilities.
Or maybe she was being paranoid.
"That would be perfect," Alaric agreed. "We'll expect you at three."
"Wonderful!" Thorne beamed. "I look forward to a most productive conversation."
He bowed again and melted back into the crowd, leaving Seraphina with an uneasy feeling she couldn't quite name.
Something about him didn't feel right.
But before she could analyze the feeling further, Alaric was guiding her toward the refreshment table, chattering about Lord Thorne's connections and what they might mean for expanding his influence.
She nodded and smiled and played the interested wife, but part of her mind was still turning over the encounter. Information gathering.Extensive connections.Service.
What kind of service did a random nobleman offer at a charity gala?
She was still puzzling over it when she saw him.
Marcus.
Standing near the main entrance, scanning the crowd with those pale, calculating eyes she remembered all too well.
Looking for someone.
And as she watched, frozen in place, those eyes found her.
Recognition. Sharp and immediate.
He knew exactly who she was.