The night stretched on, the war camp settling into uneasy rest. Inside Kaelith's tent, the air was thick with something unspoken.
Seraphine sat across from him, her expression calm but watchful. She could feel it—something shifting between them.
Kaelith exhaled, swirling the wine in his cup before setting it aside. "There are things I have never spoken of," he murmured. "Not to my council, not to my men."
Seraphine tilted her head. "And yet, you wish to speak of them now?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You asked me to trust you. I am."
She said nothing, waiting.
Kaelith leaned forward, his gaze dark and unreadable. "There is a faction within my own court that does not serve me. They bow, they swear fealty—but in truth, they answer to another."
Seraphine's fingers tightened around her cup. "Who?"
His jaw clenched. "I do not know yet. But I will find them."
The admission was a risk—revealing that there were forces within his own palace working against him. That he was not invincible.
Seraphine held his gaze, her voice soft but firm. "Then let me help you."
Kaelith studied her, something flickering in his eyes. And then, slowly, he nodded.
The first wall between them had crumbled.
And Seraphine, despite everything, could not tell if that was a victory—or a warning.
To be continued…
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