The estate woke differently.
Not louder, Cassian's house did not permit loudness, but sharper. Like a blade freshly honed, every movement precise, every surface made to gleam.
Servants moved with their backs straighter than usual. Rugs were beaten twice. Brass fixtures were polished until they could reflect a face, a title, a mistake.
Astelle noticed it all.
She drifted through the corridor outside the receiving hall, white hair falling loose down her back in a way that should have looked soft, and somehow didn't. The black gown she wore clung with quiet elegance, no unnecessary glitter, no indulgent lace. It was a deliberate choice.
Not mourning.
Armor.
Along the walls, fresh flowers had been arranged, pale lilies and small white blossoms whose names she didn't know. The scent was clean, almost too clean, as if sweetness could scrub away tension.
It couldn't.
Astelle's fingers brushed the edge of a carved banister as she descended the main staircase. The wood felt smooth from generations of hands more certain than hers.
At the bottom, she paused.
Servants crossed the hall carrying linens, tea sets, and a small mountain of folded fabrics. Someone had set a narrow table near the entrance for a ceremonial tray, salt, bread, the kind of symbolic hospitality nobles pretended mattered more than the actual politics behind it.
A maid passed, then another. Their voices were low, quick, and careful, whispers clipped short the moment they saw Astelle's approach.
But the estate carried sound in strange ways.
Astelle caught fragments.
"…Lady Seraphina is gracious…"
"…remembers names…"
"…stayed in the villages, three nights, even when it rained…"
"…she thanked the cooks…"
Astelle slowed.
Their tone wasn't frightened.
It wasn't the brittle fear she was used to hearing when her own name whispered through corridors.
It was… hopeful.
That hope sat wrong in her stomach.
They like her.
Not because she was beautiful, or because she was the heroine of a book.
Because she had earned it.
Astelle's eyes shifted, a wash of gray settling into them like fog, uncertainty that wasn't quite fear and wasn't quite envy, either. It was something more uncomfortable: the sense of stepping into a role that someone else performed better.
She turned away before the whispers could shape into anything more.
In her mind, pages turned. The Lily and the Crown had described Seraphina in broad strokes: radiant, gentle, beloved. It had never bothered to show how she became those things.
Because in a story, goodness was often treated like light: self-generating.
In reality, goodness required work.
Astelle exhaled and forced her shoulders to settle.
She found Cassian in his study, as she'd expected.
He stood behind his desk, a letter open in his hands, the palace seal broken with the same ease he used to break other things, systems, opponents, assumptions. The morning light cut through the tall windows behind him, striking the map pinned on the wall like an accusation.
He looked up when she entered.
His gaze slid over her gown, her hair, her posture.
Then, inevitably, to her eyes.
Astelle held still.
Gray.
For now.
Cassian's expression didn't change, but the smallest shift in his attention told her he'd noted it.
"Sit," he said.
Astelle did not.
Cassian did not repeat himself. He only waited, which somehow felt worse than an order.
Astelle moved to the chair opposite his desk and lowered herself into it with controlled grace. She refused to fidget.
Cassian set the letter down.
"Lady Seraphina arrives within the hour," he said.
Astelle's fingers tightened on the armrest. "She's still too early."
Cassian's gaze remained steady. "Or your sequence was."
Astelle's jaw tightened. She hated the idea that the only advantage she had, her foreknowledge, could slip through her fingers.
"She wouldn't come this soon," Astelle insisted. "Not unless—"
"Unless the palace believes unrest is accelerating," Cassian finished.
"Or unless someone wants her here," Astelle muttered.
Cassian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Possibly both."
He reached for another document. "Her visit is officially labeled observation."
Astelle scoffed quietly. "Observation of what? Your governance?"
Cassian's voice remained calm. "Observation of a crisis that affects the kingdom."
He paused, then added with precision, "And by extension, me."
Astelle's eyes darkened.
Cassian watched the gray deepen like a weather shift.
"You will stand beside me," he said.
Astelle's lips parted. "Do I have a choice?"
"No."
The simplicity of the answer made something hot flicker at the edges of her vision.
A thin ring of red sparked around the gray.
Cassian's gaze dipped briefly.
"That one," he said, almost idly. "Control it."
Astelle's cheeks heated. "Stop talking about my eyes like they're a ledger entry."
Cassian didn't blink. "They are information."
"I'm not information."
Cassian regarded her for a long moment. "You are in my house."
That sentence landed like a latch clicking shut.
Astelle's anger flared, then she caught it, forced it down. The red thinned, retreated. Gray returned, controlled.
Cassian's attention shifted away as if satisfied.
He continued, calm as a man explaining weather patterns.
"The crown prince will not attend," he said. "This is deliberate. It avoids the appearance of direct royal pressure."
Astelle nodded slowly. "So Seraphina is the softened edge."
Cassian's mouth twitched faintly. "A diplomatic blade."
"Or a sincere one," Astelle countered, remembering the staff's tone.
Cassian's gaze flicked toward her. "Sincerity and efficacy are not mutually exclusive."
Astelle didn't like how true that was.
Cassian set a second letter beside the first. "You will accompany me when she speaks with the household and when she leaves the estate. You will not disappear."
Astelle's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care what she thinks of me?"
Cassian's voice was quiet. "I care what the world thinks of my house. If you hide, it implies weakness. If you appear volatile, it implies instability."
"And if I behave," Astelle said dryly, "it implies I've been tamed."
Cassian looked at her as if she'd finally said something useful.
"Yes," he said. "So you will do neither."
Astelle stared. "That's impossible."
Cassian returned to his papers. "Then be interesting."
The words were infuriatingly calm.
Astelle stood, smoothing her skirt with slow precision.
"Fine," she said. "I'll be interesting."
Cassian didn't look up. "Try to survive it."
On the road to Valecrest, Seraphina did not daydream.
The carriage interior was neat. Comfortable without indulgence. Her maid sat opposite her, hands folded. An aide rode beside the door with a document case open on his lap.
Seraphina's posture was composed, but not rigid. She sat like someone accustomed to being watched, having learned to make it irrelevant.
She read the palace inquiry again.
Then Cassian's response.
Then the border report.
She set them down in a neat stack and reached for her small notebook.
"Confirm the origin of the grain routes," she told her aide.
He blinked. "My lady?"
"Valecrest controls the eastern arteries," Seraphina said calmly. "If routes were altered, it required internal access."
Her tone held no accusation.
Only logic.
The aide nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady."
Seraphina looked out through the carriage window at rolling fields and distant villages. Smoke rose from chimneys. A child ran along a fence line with a dog at their heels.
Life.
Fragile, ordinary life that depended on grain and stability and the absence of hungry winters.
"The inquiry predates the skirmish," she murmured more to herself than anyone.
Her maid watched quietly.
"That timing is unlikely to be a coincidence," Seraphina continued. She opened her notebook and wrote: If the palace noticed first, who alerted them?
Then she added beneath it: If alerted intentionally, by whom?
Her aide shifted, cautious. "Do you believe Lord Valecrest orchestrated it?"
Seraphina's pen paused.
She looked up, eyes steady.
"No," she said. "I believe Lord Valecrest is capable of many things. But orchestration of scarcity is… inefficient."
The aide blinked, unsure how to interpret that.
Seraphina continued calmly. "And I do not come to antagonize unnecessarily. We require clarity. Not a spectacle."
"Yes, my lady."
Seraphina turned back to the window.
One more thought came, quiet and sharp.
The rumors about Lady Valecrest were consistent.
Cruel.
Volatile.
Red-eyed fury in a porcelain face.
Seraphina had never trusted rumors.
People turned women into stories too easily.
She wrote one more line in her notebook.
Observe the wife.
Then she closed it.
---
The estate courtyard was immaculate.
Not flamboyant. Cassian would have considered flamboyance a waste.
But polished.
Deliberate.
Astelle stood at the top of the steps, shoulders squared, hands folded neatly before her. Cassian stood beside her, a half-step back, a subtle position that gave her prominence without making her the focal point.
A calculated courtesy.
Astelle hated that she noticed.
The carriage rolled to a stop.
Footmen moved in practiced coordination. The door opened.
Seraphina stepped out.
She wasn't dressed in blinding gold or dripping jewels. Her gown was structured and elegant in muted tones that suited daylight rather than candlelight. Warm honey-blonde hair was pinned back neatly, leaving a few loose strands that softened nothing about her gaze.
Her eyes were clear, blue like a winter sky. Not warm. Not cold. Steady. She surveyed the estate once. Not intimidated. Not impressed. Assessing.
Then she curtsied with perfect grace.
"Lord Valecrest," she said.
Cassian inclined his head. "Lady Seraphina."
She rose, turning slightly toward Astelle.
"Lady Valecrest."
Astelle returned the nod, spine straight. "Lady Seraphina."
Their eyes met.
Seraphina's gaze flicked over Astelle's white hair, her pale skin, the black gown like an ink stroke across snow.
Then, briefly, to her eyes.
Gray.
Not the vivid red of rumor.
Seraphina didn't react.
But Astelle felt the moment register like ink sinking into paper.
Seraphina smiled politely, then stepped forward into the estate with Cassian leading and Astelle at his side.
Astelle could feel the staff's attention like a physical thing. People watched from the edges of corridors, their heads lowered, their hands still.
Not fear this time.
Curiosity.
As though they were witnessing two storms deciding whether to collide.
---
The receiving hall smelled of tea and flowers.
The table had been set with careful hospitality: delicate pastries, fruit, and a selection of teas in ornate tins. The porcelain was too fine to use casually, so it was reserved for moments like this, when courtesy had to be visible.
Seraphina sat with her back straight, hands resting lightly on her lap. Cassian sat opposite her, posture identical, as if they'd both been trained by the same strict tutor in composure.
Astelle sat slightly to Cassian's right.
Not hidden.
Not centered.
Present.
Seraphina's gaze moved between them with a calm thoroughness that made Astelle feel as if she were being read.
Seraphina lifted her cup. "Lord Valecrest, I appreciate your transparency regarding the grain routes."
Cassian's response came smoothly. "Transparency prevents misunderstanding."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed a fraction. "It also reveals patterns."
Cassian's mouth curved faintly. "Only if one is looking."
"I am," Seraphina said simply.
The air tightened.
Not hostile.
Respectful tension.
Two competent people meeting on a board they both knew could become war.
Astelle watched, and despite herself, curiosity flickered inside her. Not fear-curiosity. Not gossip-curiosity.
Puzzle-curiosity.
The gray in her eyes shifted for the briefest moment toward something darker, richer—
A muted violet edge.
Seraphina's gaze flicked to Astelle's eyes again.
Not startled.
Not judgmental.
Observant.
Then Seraphina turned her attention fully toward Astelle, as if including her were the most natural thing in the world.
"Lady Valecrest," she said, "you've been overseeing internal estate adjustments?"
It wasn't a trap.
It was a question that assumed competence.
Astelle hesitated only a heartbeat.
"I've been observing them," she said carefully.
Seraphina nodded slowly. "Observation is often more revealing than command."
A dangerous sentence.
Because it implied Seraphina knew how much Astelle had commanded in the past.
Astelle's mouth tightened.
Then, unexpectedly, she felt something loosen.
Seraphina wasn't mocking her.
She was acknowledging reality.
Astelle's eyes flickered, softly, toward sea-glass green for a heartbeat, a faint warmth of being treated as a person rather than a reputation.
Seraphina saw it.
She did not comment.
But her tone shifted by the smallest fraction, still formal, still careful, but less guarded.
"Then you may have noticed," Seraphina continued, "that the palace inquiry predates the skirmish."
Cassian's gaze sharpened. "Yes."
Seraphina set her cup down. "That timing is unusual."
"It is," Cassian agreed.
Seraphina's voice remained calm. "Have you identified internal tampering?"
Cassian paused.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
"We are investigating," he replied.
Seraphina nodded once, as if that answer satisfied something.
"Then we share a concern," she said.
Astelle's stomach dipped.
Shared concern.
Not an accusation.
Not rivalry.
Alignment was more destabilizing than conflict.
Seraphina rose.
"I will visit the eastern villages tomorrow," she said. "Not for spectacle. For clarity."
Her gaze moved to Cassian. "You are welcome to join."
It was an invitation.
Also a test.
Cassian didn't flinch.
"We will," he said.
Seraphina inclined her head. "Good."
Then she turned to Astelle again.
"I look forward," she said, voice soft but clear, "to hearing what you observe."
Astelle held Seraphina's gaze. Something in her chest tightened,
not hostility, not jealousy, but recognition. Seraphina was not
the simplified heroine in a book, she was a real person.
She was a dangerous person, not because of cruelty, but because she was sincere and effective at the same time.
Seraphina left the hall with her aides, moving through the estate with quiet confidence. The staff's posture shifted around her, not fear, but respect.
Astelle watched until the doors closed behind her.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"She's not how the book described her," Astelle murmured.
Cassian's voice came from beside her, quiet and unreadable.
"Books simplify."
Astelle turned slightly toward him. "She's not trying to corner you."
Cassian's gaze remained on the closed doors. "Not yet."
Astelle's eyes flashed red at the edges before she could stop them.
Cassian's attention dipped.
He didn't comment this time.
Instead, he said something quieter, something that cut deeper than teasing.
"Or perhaps," Cassian murmured, "she never was."
Astelle went still.
Because if Seraphina had been misrepresented—
Then what else had the book misrepresented?
What else had been biased for narrative convenience?
Astelle's eyes returned to gray, uncertainty flooding back in.
She looked toward the guest wing.
A single window light flickered on.
Seraphina was awake.
Thinking.
Watching.
The estate was quiet again, but the silence had changed shape.
It wasn't calm.
It was poised.
The board had not exploded.
It had deepened.
And tomorrow, they would walk into the east together, into Cassian's territory, into Seraphina's cause, into a story that was no longer content to follow its original lines.