Chapter 30: A Game of Shadows

Seraphina felt the heat of Adrian's hand at the small of her back as he guided her through the final turn of the waltz. Their movements were effortless, perfectly in sync, but the game they played was anything but simple.

As the music faded, applause rippled through the room. Seraphina allowed a polite smile to touch her lips, though inside, her mind was elsewhere. Delacroix was watching them closely. He was an expert at masking his thoughts, but she caught the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed idly against the stem of his wine glass.

He was unsettled.

Good.

Adrian leaned closer, his breath warm against her temple. "He's waiting for you to make a move."

Seraphina tilted her head, allowing a teasing smile to grace her lips, a performance for the many watching eyes. "Then let's not disappoint him, shall we?"

She turned and gracefully detached herself from Adrian's grasp, making her way toward Delacroix. The marquis raised his glass in greeting as she approached.

"Duchess Valemont," he drawled. "What an unexpected delight."

Seraphina smiled, dipping into a slight curtsy. "Marquis Delacroix, it has been too long."

"Indeed," he agreed, his sharp eyes scanning her carefully. "I must say, your husband's presence has done you a great service. You seem... transformed."

She met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "A woman flourishes in the right company."

"Ah," he mused, swirling his wine. "And yet, I always believed you favored the company of ghosts."

The veiled insult was clear, but Seraphina only smiled. Let him test the waters—he would soon find her far less fragile than he remembered.

"Ghosts have much to teach, Marquis," she said lightly. "They whisper of truths others dare not speak."

His expression flickered for the briefest moment before he let out a low chuckle. "How poetic. And tell me, what truths have you uncovered lately?"

She held his gaze steadily. "That the past has a way of returning, no matter how deeply one buries it."

The air between them tensed. For a fraction of a second, Delacroix's composure slipped. It was slight—just a tightening of his fingers around his glass, a flicker of something dark in his eyes—but Seraphina caught it.

There.

Before he could recover, Adrian appeared at her side, his presence a silent yet potent warning.

"Marquis," Adrian greeted smoothly, offering a nod. "Enjoying the evening?"

Delacroix took a slow sip of his wine, his mask sliding back into place. "Immensely."

Seraphina turned to Adrian, her smile cool. "The marquis and I were just reminiscing about the past. It seems it lingers in all our minds."

Adrian's gaze flickered between them, then he smiled—sharp and knowing. "The past is a fickle thing. It always finds its way home."

Delacroix chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "How philosophical of you, Your Grace."

"Philosophy has its uses," Adrian said easily. "But I prefer results."

A silent challenge passed between the men, their words laced with a meaning far deeper than mere pleasantries.

Seraphina allowed herself a satisfied breath. Delacroix was rattled. She had cracked his composure, and Adrian had reinforced the strike.

Now, it was only a matter of time before the marquis made a mistake.

And when he did, she would be waiting.