Chapter 24: A Dance with the Devil

Seraphina knew the moment she stepped into the drawing room that she was no longer in control.

Adrian stood by the hearth, a glass of dark wine in his hand, watching the flames with an expression carved from ice. He hadn't summoned her. He hadn't needed to. Something in the air had shifted since their last conversation in the archives.

She was in his web now.

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound unnervingly final.

"You're restless," Adrian murmured without turning. "I expected as much."

Seraphina folded her arms. "And you're playing games."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "No games, ma chérie. Just an invitation." He finally looked at her, silver eyes gleaming. "You want the truth? Then you'll follow me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Follow you where?"

"To the places where real answers are bought and sold."

A flicker of unease curled in her stomach. Seraphina had spent days scouring the Valemont estate for scraps of truth. Adrian was offering her something far more dangerous: a glimpse into the world he ruled.

She had no choice but to step into the fire.

—

The carriage ride was silent.

Seraphina sat across from Adrian, watching him in the dim glow of the lantern swinging overhead. He was unnervingly calm, his posture easy, his fingers resting against the curve of his cane—a weapon, not an accessory.

She didn't trust his silence.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

His gaze flickered to hers. "To a place where men speak more honestly with their coins than with their tongues."

It wasn't an answer. It was a warning.

The carriage slowed, and Seraphina felt the air shift. The scent of damp stone and distant smoke curled into the night. They weren't in noble territory anymore.

Adrian pushed the door open and extended a hand. "Stay close."

Seraphina hesitated. Then, with a steadying breath, she placed her fingers in his and let him lead her into the dark.

—

The establishment was hidden behind an unmarked door in a narrow alleyway, its entrance guarded by men with sharp eyes and scarred knuckles.

Inside, the air was thick with candle smoke and murmured wagers. It was a gambling den, but not the kind the nobility frequented. Here, men gambled with more than coin. Secrets were traded like currency.

Seraphina felt the weight of eyes on her the moment she entered. She wasn't dressed for this world, but Adrian moved through it as if he belonged.

A man rose from a shadowed alcove, his grin slow and knowing. "Valemont," he drawled. "Didn't think I'd see you here so soon."

Adrian's grip on her hand tightened briefly before he let go. "The world's full of surprises, isn't it, Soren?"

Soren. The name rang a bell. A merchant, notorious for knowing things others wished to keep buried.

"Come, then," Soren said, gesturing to a private table. "Let's talk business."

Seraphina's pulse thrummed. She wasn't just here to observe. Adrian was about to deal in information—and she was the bargaining chip he had brought to the table.

—

The game was a silent negotiation.

Adrian played with an ease that sent shivers down Seraphina's spine, his wagers precise, his movements calculated. Each round, the stakes grew higher—not in coin, but in whispered truths.

"You have something I want," Adrian murmured after winning another hand. "And I have something you need."

Soren leaned back, rubbing his jaw. "That depends. What exactly are you after tonight?"

Adrian's fingers tapped against the table. Then, softly, "Laurent."

The name sent a hush over the table. Soren's gaze flicked to Seraphina, then back to Adrian.

"That's a dangerous topic," he mused. "What's the angle?"

Adrian didn't blink. "His interest in Everhart. And his ties to my mother's murder."

Seraphina felt her breath hitch. He wasn't being subtle.

Soren studied them both for a long moment. Then he exhaled a laugh. "You never do play small, do you, Valemont?"

Adrian smiled, slow and edged with danger. "Why would I?"

Soren leaned forward. "You're chasing ghosts, my friend. Laurent doesn't just ruin families—he buries them. If you're set on this path, you best start digging where the bones are."

Seraphina frowned. "And where might that be?"

Soren's gaze lingered on her. Then he flicked his wrist, tossing a worn card onto the table. "The Montverre estate. Three nights from now. That's where the pieces move next."

Adrian slid the card toward himself, studying it with the same measured gaze he gave a battlefield. Then, with a satisfied nod, he stood.

Soren smirked. "Careful, Valemont. Play too close to the thorns, and you'll bleed."

Adrian's fingers brushed against Seraphina's wrist as he turned. "A lesson well learned," he murmured.

She shivered, not from the cold.

—

Back in the carriage, Seraphina turned to him. "You planned this."

Adrian's expression was unreadable in the low lantern light. "You wanted the truth. I'm giving you the means to find it."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why bring me into it now?"

He leaned forward, his voice a silk-covered blade. "Because, Seraphina, if we're to survive this war, you need to stop thinking like a hunted woman and start thinking like a Valemont."

The words curled around her, dark and inescapable.

She wasn't sure what unsettled her more—the truth in them, or the way Adrian was looking at her now, as if she had already stepped too deep into his world to turn back.