Conrad waited in the doorway like a man who'd practiced stillness until it read as loyalty. He'd learned how to stand small and look harmless so people underestimated the force behind him. Today his hands were folded behind his back; his jaw was that hard line I trusted when decisions had to be made instead of prettified.
The invitation lay on my desk like a deliberate provocation — black wax, heavy stock. I hadn't opened it yesterday because I didn't go to court events anymore. Too many faces, too many obligations masquerading as tradition. They were theatre; they were teeth behind silk.
Mavier had turned the theatre into a battlefield.
"Will you open it, my lady?" Conrad asked. He didn't ask because he wanted to chatter. He asked because the timing carried a different shape now, and he had a right to want that shape clarified.
I split the seal with a nail, let the card fall into my palm. Clear type. The annual ball. Date, place, the usual parade. Reading it felt like reading a threat in polite gray.
"You think I should go," I said.
"I do," Conrad answered. "And you should bring Cassian."
The suggestion hit stone-cold because it was true. I set the card down and watched Conrad's face for the rest of the argument; he'd rehearsed this in his head and come to the practical end without drama.
"That would be a spectacle," I said.
"Exactly." He walked into the study, closing the space with the quiet authority of a man who knew which words to keep and which to use only once. "Spectacles are memorable. If Mavier is testing boundaries—if he tried to make Cass an accident—then making him visible, making him yours in front of the court, changes the calculus. It forces the price into light."
Leverage. Not sentimental, not grand. Useful. I liked useful.
I set the card down. "You want me to parade him."
"No," he said. "You show him. Make their calculations harder. If Mavier planned the crash as a private message, make the counter-message public. Make Cassian an obvious part of your life. Make the cost of touching him visible."
Leverage, plain and practical. I liked that. I rubbed a thumb over the black wax smudge left on the paper and watched Conrad's expression sharpen.
"Mavier arranged the crash," I said. It steadied me to say it. Facts are easier to move than fear.
"He did," Conrad agreed. "And he will test again until the court makes it too risky. A public marker changes the risk assessment. It makes violence political instead of personal."
I thought of the west wing, the hospital lights, the nights I'd spent watching a monitor that might stop. I thought of Tiffany and the softness of the life I'd promised them both. I thought of the radius of damage obsession could make.
"So we go," I said. "Cass on my arm. Visible. No hiding."
Conrad inclined his head. "We'll arrange routes, vet the guest list we can, put trusted faces at the doors. We'll make sure he's never left alone in a vulnerable moment."
"And the Toreador?" I asked last — an admission and a question. Bringing the Legion back was a heavy decision. Having them ride into a court event would be theater too blunt for diplomacy.
Conrad's reply was measured. "They are on standby. I can call them immediately if you want them in the city, but not in the room. You said you didn't want a parade—bring them in if and only if escalation requires it. They'll respond quickly, but they will not walk into a ballroom on your bikes. That's not the point."
The answer satisfied me. I had chosen once to step away from that life so the villa could feel like a home, not a fortress. I wasn't prepared to convert the ball into a warzone just to prove a point. But I would not hesitate to call for the Legion if the prince turned testing into an attack.
"No bikes in the villa," I agreed. "They'll stay outside, ready. If Mavier pushes, we don't wait for the next body."
Conrad made a note. "Exactly. A visible protection on call is different from staging a combat display in front of the court. We keep the optics clean and the options real. I'll prepare the west wing, coordinate the entry points, and place two household escorts at every door."
"And Cass?" I asked.
"He needs coaching," Conrad said. "He's human and he's raw. He needs to know what to say, where to stand, who to avoid. He won't naturally move through that room without looking exposed. We fix that. We do not let him be a prey."
I let the weight of it settle. "We do this quiet. We do this on our terms. The court will see him and know the consequences. The Toreador will wait on the sides, ready if Mavier makes it necessary."
Conrad's lips twitched with the faintest approval. "I'll send the messages tonight. I'll secure the cars. We'll run him through it. We'll keep Tiffany safe. We'll have contingency exits planned."
I nodded. The decision made the study feel more like an operations room than a place of quiet. That was fine. Action steadied me.
"Call the Legion only if I order it," I said. "Not before."
"Understood," Conrad replied.
When he left, I sat with the invitation for a long moment and then locked the desk drawer. No coach, just cars. No public show of force, only visible presence and disciplined readiness. I dialed the first number on my list — an old contact who owed me a favor and was still useful without theatrics — and began the work of making the court understand one simple thing: you do not make a mockery of my decision without paying for it.
We would go to the ball. We would present Cassian as mine. The Toreador would not ride into the room with us, but they would be a quiet, terrible answer if the prince escalated. That was enough for now. It was practice, leverage, and a promise I meant to keep.
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Hey babes, I'm sorry for the late uploads...<3