The High Adjudicator did not dress for the banquet. He even didn't come back last night.
That decision was made early—before the musicians tuned their strings, before the servants adjusted the sconces to a warmer glow, before the Grand Seneschal finalized the attendance lists for the third time. He remained in the inner chambers, his formal coat laid aside, sleeves rolled to the wrists. He sat at the narrow writing table, reports stacked before him in neat, uncompromising rows.
The bell rang.
Once.
Then again, a sharper note.
The Grand Seneschal appeared in the doorway, his expression a mask of polite deference. "She has arrived."
"I know." Kaelreth did not look up from the parchment.
A measured pause. "She expects you."
"No." The word was flat. Final.
The Grand Seneschal inclined his head. "As you wish." He allowed a sliver of hesitation to show—a carefully calculated flicker. "The the Lady Thronea travels with… considerable expectation."
"I am aware."
"She has brought witnesses. Minor lords, but attentive ones."
"I assumed she would."
A faint, approving smile touched the Seneschal's lips. "Then may I suggest an alternative disposition?"
Kaelreth set his pen down. He turned his head just enough to cast a glacial glance toward the door. "Send SD."
The Seneschal's smile deepened, a mere tightening at the corners of his eyes. "Of course."
SD did not ask why.
He stood in the antechamber, his coat fastened with exacting neatness, his posture a replication of perfect readiness. When the Grand Seneschal delivered the instruction, SD acknowledged it with a single, shallow nod.
"Yes."
That was all that was required.
The banquet hall was a furnace of calculated splendor. Light fractured through crystal, gliding over silk and polished skin. Laughter was measured, conversations a lattice of implication and flattery.
The Lady Thronea entered as if taking possession of a birthright. Gold thread shimmered through her gown, her hair artfully arranged to suggest casual grace. Her smile was brilliant, rehearsed, and utterly undaunted.
When her eyes found the High Adjudicator's empty seat, her smile did not waver. It sharpened.
Then she saw SD, standing motionless near the pillar.
"Oh." The syllable was rich with intrigued recognition.
She crossed the floor, the crowd parting for her like water. "You're late," she chided, her tone light.
"I am present," SD replied.
She laughed, a sound like chiming silver. "You always were." Her gaze swept over him—open, appraising, possessive. "And where is your better half?"
"Occupied."
She leaned closer, the scent of night-blooming roses clinging to her. "How disappointingly predictable." Her hand came to rest on his forearm. Not a fleeting touch, but a deliberate claim.
SD did not move.
"You're very quiet tonight," she murmured. "Did he instruct you to be?"
"No."
The answer seemed to delight her. She circled him slowly, her fingers trailing over the wool of his sleeve, the line of his shoulder, the edge of his collar. "They say you're unfinished," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "A sketch without the final strokes. I find that… intriguing. I've always preferred completed works."
Her hand slid lower, resting against his side. He remained utterly still.
"You don't even flinch," she observed, her voice a velvet murmur. "Not even when touched."
"I am aware of the contact."
She laughed again, low and delighted. "How obedient. How terribly useful." She leaned in until only he could hear. "You can tell him I noticed his little substitution."
SD inclined his head. "I will report the observation."
Satisfied, she straightened, her public smile reinstated. "Well," she announced, her voice once again bright and carrying, "this will suffice for now." She gestured, and a servant hurried forward with a small velvet box. "For him. With my… affection." She pressed the box into SD's hands, her fingers lingering over his. "And tell him I shall expect a proper response."
With a final, gleaming smile, she turned back to the adulating crowd. The room seemed to exhale.
In the walled back garden, the tea had gone cold in its porcelain cup.
The High Adjudicator sat across from the Grand Knight-Commander, a fresh pot steaming between them. Documents were spread on the stone table, anchored by a smooth, dark river stone.
The Knight-Commander was a man built for armor, though he wore none now. Scars mapped a history of violence across his hands and brow. His demeanor was relaxed, but his eyes missed nothing. "She didn't catch you tonight."
"No."
A grunt that might have been a laugh. "Pity. She does love the hunt." He took a sip of the freshly poured tea. "Still, you've always been adept at delegation."
Kaelreth offered no reply.
The Knight-Commander's smile was a slash of white in the gloom. "Using your own shadow to absorb a political blow. Efficient."
"A reasonable application of assets."
"Do I disapprove?" The Knight-Commander set his cup down. "Not at all. I admire the tactic. Most men hide behind their soldiers. You hide behind a mirror of yourself." He paused, letting the observation settle. "That requires either remarkable confidence… or a particular kind of detachment."
He did not specify which he believed it to be.
They drank in a silence broken only by the distant murmur of the banquet.
"She will return," the Knight-Commander said finally.
"Yes."
"And next time?"
Kaelreth placed his cup perfectly centered on its saucer. "Next time, the context will have shifted."
The Knight-Commander's smile turned keen, like the edge of a well-honed blade. "I shall watch with interest."
SD returned after midnight.
He placed the velvet box on the writing table without ceremony. "She expressed satisfaction with the substitution."
Kaelreth gave a single nod. "That was the expected outcome."
SD paused, then added with sterile precision, "Her physical contact exceeded standard diplomatic parameters."
"Did it impede the execution of your function?"
"No."
"Then it is irrelevant."
SD inclined his head. "Yes."
The box remained unopened, a dark jewel on the polished wood.
Outside, the gardens slept in profound quiet. No bell rang again before dawn.
And in a small, spare chamber elsewhere in the estate, a girl called L waited through the silent hours, listening to footsteps that never approached her door.