The question was a test—she recognized it immediately. A reference to the Third Prince, whose symbol was the shadow, whose patient machinations had earned him the nickname The Kingdom's Longest Night in her past life.
"I judge by those who endure, Your Highness," she said steadily, "and by those who dare to cut with blades others fear to hold. Banners are meaningless without the hands that carry them, and shadows are powerless without the light they obscure."
She paused, letting the weight settle. "The question is not whether one chooses sun or shadow, but whether one understands that both are necessary for the Kingdom to function."
Aldric's eyes widened fractionally—genuine surprise flickering across his features. "That is... remarkably pragmatic. And perhaps dangerously so."
"Your Highness, I suspect you know better than most."
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the afternoon light shifting as clouds passed overhead, casting the room in alternating brightness and shadow. When Aldric finally spoke, his voice carried a new quality—not warmth, precisely, but careful consideration.
"You are not what I expected, Miss Araminata. I've heard you are a pretty pawn. A social climber. Perhaps a spy planted by the Third Prince's faction." He smiled slightly, without humor. "Certainly not someone who speaks of shadows and light as if they were tools to be wielded rather than forces to be feared."
Seraphina twisted her dress skirts, saying nothing.
Aldric inclined his head fractionally. "Very well. You have given me much to consider. But words, however eloquent, are still just words. The Kingdom—and I—will judge you by what follows."
The moment shifted. Aldric's expression hardened, the courtier's mask dropping to reveal the military commander beneath. "Enough philosophical sparring. I did not come merely for pleasantries or to test your wit."
His voice dropped, taking on the edge of command that had led armies. "I must see the Marquess. Now. He is my oldest friend, my confidant, my brother in all but blood. I will not be kept waiting."
"Your Highness, the Marquess has only just risen from injury—" Seraphina began, but she could already see the futility of delay.
"He is capable," Aldric interrupted, steel threading his voice like wire through silk.
"I trust your judgment, Miss Araminata, but my patience—which you have tested admirably—is not infinite. James and I have weathered too many storms together for me to be denied access now, at his most vulnerable moment." His amber eyes bored into hers. "You will bring him to me, or I will go to him. Choose."
It was not a request. It was barely even a command. It was simply the statement of a man who would not be moved. Seraphina inclined her head, recognizing the iron certainty in his words. "Very well, Your Highness. I will bring him to you." She moved toward the door, then paused. "But I must ask that you remember he is still healing."
Something flickered across Aldric's face—concern, quickly masked. "Noted. But James has never been diminished by injury before. I doubt he will start now."
Seraphina wanted to tell him that some wounds went deeper than flesh, that vulnerability could manifest in unexpected ways. Instead, she simply nodded and left to fetch the Marquess.
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The private chamber was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun to spare James's still-healing body from the glare. He looked up as she entered, and even in the shadows, she could see the knowing glint in his gaze. "The First Prince demands your presence," she said without preamble. "And he will not be put off."
James was silent for a moment, his gaze flickering to the window before returning to her. "I see." His voice was measured, controlled. "I should have expected no less from Aldric. The Kingdom's sun never waits for anyone." He paused. "Then we should not keep him waiting."
"Can you walk?" Seraphina asked, already moving to his side, assessing his condition with the practiced eye she'd developed over weeks of tending him.
He didn't answer immediately, simply reached for her offered arm with deliberate precision. His grip was firm, betraying only the faintest tremor of muscles still rebuilding their strength. He rose without complaint, without jest—simply stood, adjusted his weight, and prepared himself.
"I've walked battlefields with worse injuries, Seraphina. A corridor should prove manageable."
They made their way slowly through the corridor. James moved with careful dignity, each step measured, his breathing controlled despite the obvious effort. Seraphina matched his pace, neither rushing him nor offering unnecessary assistance. She had learned that balance early in his recovery.
"He suspects me," Seraphina said quietly. "He came here to assess whether I'm a threat to you."
"Of course." James's voice remained even despite the strain of movement. "Aldric suspects everyone. It would be negligent of him not to. It's what's kept him alive this long in a court full of vipers. Don't take it personally."
"He's not in a mood for deflections."
"Then I will give him truth." A pause as they navigated a corner. "I have been convincing Aldric of unlikely truths since we were boys sneaking out of the academy. What remains after careful consideration is what matters."
They reached the drawing room doors. Seraphina gave him a moment to steady himself, watching as he drew upon some inner reserve of strength. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable—his shoulders straightened fractionally, his jaw set, his entire bearing shifting to project authority despite his obvious physical limitations.
It was not armor he donned, she realized, but rather the shedding of anything that might be perceived as weakness. Pure discipline, honed over decades.
"Ready?" she asked.
His hand tightened briefly on her arm—acknowledgment, perhaps, or simply anchoring himself. "Always."
She opened the doors.
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Aldric turned from the window as they entered, and for a heartbeat, his carefully maintained expression cracked. Seraphina saw it—the flash of genuine fear, quickly suppressed, as he took in the sight of James moving with careful deliberation, bandages visible beneath his partially open shirt.
But then the mask snapped back into place, and Aldric's voice was steady, touched with warmth but controlled. "James."
"Aldric." The single word carried weight—acknowledgment, relief, restraint all compressed into two syllables. James released Seraphina's arm slowly, standing on his own despite the visible cost. "It has been too long."
"Too long since you nearly got yourself killed, you mean?" Aldric crossed the room in three quick strides, his composure slipping as he clasped James's arm.
"When I heard—" He stopped, jaw working. "When I heard what happened, I rode through the night. I should have been here sooner."
"And done what? Held my hand while I bled? Your presence now is sufficient." James's voice remained even, but his eyes held something deeper—gratitude, perhaps, or the quiet understanding of men who had faced death together and knew its measure. A faint smile crossed his face. "I am... recovering."
"This isn't a jest, James." Aldric's voice dropped dangerously low. "Someone tried to kill you. And the Council's investigation has been..." He glanced at Seraphina, clearly weighing how much to say in her presence.
"Inadequate," James finished. "Yes, I'm aware. Miss Araminata has kept me apprised of the political maneuvering. Apparently my attempted assassination is less important than maintaining the appearance of stability."
Aldric's gaze flicked to Seraphina, and something in his eyes shifted—reassessment, perhaps, as he saw the easy way they moved together, the unspoken communication. "Miss Araminata has been... informative?"
"Miss Araminata has been indispensable." The words were simple, factual, delivered without embellishment. "She has managed what needed managing. Turned away those who needed turning away."
Seraphina felt the weight of those words—the restraint in them, the deliberate precision. James did not praise lightly.
"She also has excellent hearing, which means she's well aware you're still evaluating whether she's trustworthy. You might as well continue doing so to her face rather than through coded questions to me."
A ghost of a smile touched Aldric's lips. "Still as subtle as a cavalry charge, I see. Some things don't change, even after near-death experiences."
"I prefer to think of it as efficiency."
James moved toward a chair with measured steps, and Seraphina moved to assist him. He accepted her help with a slight nod, settling carefully. Once seated, he met Aldric's gaze squarely.
"Are you well?" Aldric asked. "Not court well, where every wound is merely an inconvenience. Truly well."
James was quiet for a moment, considering the question with careful attention. "I am healing. The physical wounds will mend, given time and proper care. The political ones..." A pause, barely perceptible. "Those require different strategies."
"Because someone on the Council wanted you dead," Aldric said flatly.
"Or wanted me weakened. Or isolated. The intent remains... unclear." James's fingers rested on the arm of the chair, perfectly still. "The investigation has been notably incomplete."
"Deliberately so."
"Yes." No elaboration, just acknowledgment of shared understanding.
Aldric turned his full attention to Seraphina, and she felt the weight of that gaze like physical pressure. "You've saved his life. Do not diminish your role through false modesty."
"She has had numerous opportunities to act against my interests," James said quietly. "She has chosen otherwise."
He coughed, the sound rattling his chest for a moment. Seraphina moved forward, but he waved away her concern with slow-forming fondness. "Thank you, Miss Araminata. You may either stay and witness Aldric's interrogation, or retreat to somewhere less politically fraught. Your choice."
The words were delivered with characteristic restraint, but their weight was unmistakable. This was not casual praise—this was testimony, carefully considered and deliberately given.
Seraphina glanced between the two men—the First Prince standing with military bearing, the Marquess seated but no less commanding for it. Two men who had known each other for decades, who had bled together and survived together, now navigating the treacherous waters of trust and suspicion.
"I'll stay," she said quietly. "If His Highness has questions about my care of the Marquess, I should be present to answer them."
"How transparent," Aldric murmured, but there was approval in his tone. "Very well. Let us dispense with pretense." He leaned forward. "Are you unaware that the very woman you're betrothed to could be your assassin?"
James's voice took on an edge. "You know how this game is played, Aldric. The attempted assassination is less important than who benefits from the chaos it creates."
"And Miss Araminata's presence here—during your recovery, with full access to your household and your affairs—that doesn't concern you?"
"It concerns me greatly," James replied calmly. "Which is why I've been observing her actions with the same scrutiny you're currently applying. And what I've observed is someone who has had multiple opportunities to finish what the assassins started, and has instead chosen to preserve my life. Sometimes, Aldric, the evidence speaks for itself."
Aldric studied Seraphina with renewed intensity. "Why should I believe your intentions align with the Kingdom's interests rather than your own?"
"Because my interests and the Kingdom's are not mutually exclusive, Your Highness," Seraphina said steadily. "My survival depends on stability. Chaos serves me not at all."
"A pragmatic answer." Aldric's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps too pragmatic. The court has taught you well."
"The court has taught me necessity. As it has taught us all."
A beat of silence.
James laughed—a real laugh, pained but genuine. "I told you she was capable, didn't I?"
Aldric's lips twitched. "You may have mentioned it. Though I believe your exact words were 'surprisingly sharp for someone raised in that viper's nest of a family.'"
"I stand by that assessment," James said with surprising cheekiness.
Seraphina felt heat rise to her cheeks but kept her composure. The unusually relaxed atmosphere put her slightly on edge, though it would be far more unusual if James still acted as Commander or Beast of the Battlefield in front of the man he'd fought beside for decades.
"If the two of you are quite finished discussing me as if I were a fascinating specimen..."
"My apologies, Miss Araminata," Aldric said, and there was genuine contrition in his voice. "Old habits. James and I have been analyzing potential threats and allies for so long, we sometimes forget that the people we're discussing are standing right there."
"I'm aware of my family's reputation, Your Highness. And I know that my being here, in this position, raises legitimate questions. All I can offer is my actions as evidence of my intent. Nothing more."
Aldric studied her for a long moment, then looked to James. His old friend nodded fractionally—some private communication passing between them, built on years of partnership.
"Very well," Aldric said finally. "I will accept—provisionally—that your presence here serves James's interests. But know this, Miss Araminata: the Crown is watching. I am watching. And if I discover that your loyalty wavers, or that you have used your position to cause him harm..." He let the threat hang, unfinished but clear.
"Understood, Your Highness," Seraphina replied. "Though I would point out that if I intended harm, I've had ample opportunity already. The fact that the Marquess still lives should perhaps count as evidence in my favor, though I doubt I could take him down in any physical manner."
A flicker of something—amusement? respect?—crossed Aldric's features. "Point taken, though you speak quite candidly to a Prince."
James shifted in his chair, wincing slightly. "Now that we've established that Miss Araminata is neither assassin nor spy, perhaps we can discuss actual important matters? Such as who, exactly, is trying to kill me, and what you intend to do about it?"
"What I intend," Aldric said, his voice taking on the edge of command once more, "is to find them and ensure they face appropriate consequences. But that requires information, James. Information about your recent activities, your political positioning, any threats you may have received."
"A long list," James said dryly. "I've made quite a few enemies lately. Occupational hazard of actually trying to accomplish things on the Council."
Aldric pulled up a chair, settling into it with the air of a man preparing for a long discussion. "Then let's start from the beginning. And Miss Araminata—" He glanced at her. "You may wish to stay. From what James tells me, you've been managing his affairs during his recovery. Your insights may prove valuable."
Seraphina inclined her head, feeling the subtle shift—from suspect to provisional ally. It wasn't trust, not yet. But it was a beginning.
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