Chapter 29: The Unseen War

Chapter 29: The Unseen War

Seraphina stepped off the dance floor, her pulse steady despite the weight of Montverre's heir's lingering gaze. The waltz had been a game of veiled words and subtle challenges, but it had also confirmed what she already suspected—Montverre's court was watching her closely.

Adrian was already waiting at the edge of the ballroom, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp. He had seen everything. As she reached him, he offered his arm, a silent command rather than a request.

"He was testing you," Adrian murmured as she took his arm, allowing him to lead her toward the grand staircase.

"And I tested him in return," she replied, lifting her chin slightly. "He wanted to see if I was a threat. Now he knows I am."

They descended together, their presence commanding. They had arrived as one, a force impossible to ignore, and even now, eyes still followed them. Seraphina had long learned how to wield perception as a weapon, and tonight, they had sharpened it to its finest edge.

The Montverre ballroom stretched before them, a sea of swirling gowns and murmured secrets. Beneath the glow of chandeliers, nobles danced, laughed, and bartered influence with each well-placed whisper. But Seraphina was uninterested in idle court politics. She had come here to hunt.

Laurent lingered near the marble colonnade, his conversation lighthearted, but Seraphina knew better. He was watching, waiting. And beside him stood another figure—one that sent a slow chill through her veins.

Marquis Delacroix.

A man whose name was spoken only in whispers, whose influence spanned both noble courts and shadowed alleys. He had played the role of loyal courtier well, but Seraphina had long suspected his hand in the ruin of those who stood in Montverre's way—including her own family.

She tilted her head slightly toward Adrian. "Delacroix is here."

Adrian didn't react, but she felt the shift in his focus. "Interesting."

Her fingers curled around the stem of her untouched wine glass. "He doesn't move without reason. If he's present tonight, it's because Montverre wants him to be seen."

Adrian's hand brushed against hers in the subtlest confirmation. "Then let's give them something worth seeing."

She turned, meeting his gaze. A challenge gleamed in his silver eyes, an invitation to step further into the fire.

Adrian smirked and extended a gloved hand. "Then dance with me. Let's remind them who they're dealing with."

She hesitated only a fraction of a second before placing her hand in his. The moment their fingers met, he pulled her onto the floor, the music swelling as they became part of the masquerade's grand illusion.

Eyes followed them. Some in admiration, others in speculation. But more importantly, their enemies watched too.

Seraphina let herself move with Adrian, their steps precise, their rhythm effortless. His grip was firm yet knowing, guiding her into a seamless waltz. Every turn was a negotiation, every shift in movement a test of control. He led, and she matched him—neither yielding, neither willing to be outmaneuvered.

As he spun her, his breath ghosted against her ear. "Delacroix is watching. Shall we give him reason to wonder what we're plotting?"

Seraphina smirked. "By all means, Your Grace. Let's make him sweat."

She tilted her head, letting the movement appear intimate to any prying eyes. "Did you know Delacroix owned the debtors who forced my father to sell Evernight's holdings?"

Adrian's grip on her waist tightened fractionally. "I suspected. But that's not all he's done. He holds key trade routes that make him invaluable to Montverre's influence. He's more than a participant—he's an architect."

Seraphina's jaw clenched. "Then tonight, we start dismantling his foundation."

Adrian's smirk returned, sharper this time. "I thought you'd say that."

He twirled her effortlessly, drawing the attention of the room. Their chemistry—calculated yet undeniable—was meant to unsettle. And judging by the careful way Delacroix observed them, it was working.

As the music slowed, Adrian leaned in, his lips barely brushing the edge of her mask. "Our next move begins now. Are you ready?"

Seraphina's pulse quickened—not from the proximity, but from the promise in his words.

She met his gaze, unyielding.

"Always."

The game had shifted.

And by the time the night was over, the Montverre court would know that Seraphina Valemont was no one's pawn.