Seraphina's Suspicion

The east-wing tearoom of the Vosswell Estate was quiet at this hour, the lamplight subdued as evening's shadows stretched long and thin across the polished floors.

Delphia stood by the window, gazing into the garden across, her thoughts drifting as she waited for Seraphina. Outside, the last glimmers of daylight caught the edges of the manicured hedges, turning them gold, while inside, the hush of the tearoom settled over her like a soft, delicate shawl.

She'd had no intention of meeting her again so soon after their exchange at breakfast, which is why she postponed it until the evening. But the tea party approached swiftly, and if this event was to go smoothly—if Delphia's newly earned composure were to be taken seriously—she needed to finalize the event's details; Seraphina's involvement was non-negotiable.

The door opened, and Lady Seraphina Vosswell entered, steps measured, posture impeccable. She wore an elegant gown of pale blue, her blonde hair pinned just so, exuding an air of practiced refinement; Showing off her polished beauty. But the slight tightness around her blue eyes and the thinness of her smile revealed that she was not entirely pleased to be here.

"Delphia," Seraphina said, offering the faintest incline of her head as she approached the low table set with tea. "You requested this meeting. Let's not waste time."

Delphia turned from the window, meeting Seraphina's gaze. "Yes," she replied evenly. "We need to finalize the guest list and schedule for the tea party." She gestured to a small folio on the table. "You brought the details, I presume?"

Seraphina took a seat without waiting for Delphia's invitation, crossing her legs with a poised grace. "Of course. I've updated the list this morning," she said, pushing the folio between them closer to Delphia. Her eyes flicked upward to study Delphia's face, "You're being oddly forward in the preparations, aren't you? Quite the change from just handing it off to the next person to take care of."

Delphia settled into the chair opposite Seraphina, lifting an eyebrow at the remark. "I thought you'd appreciate me taking an interest," she said, reaching for the folio. "Unless you prefer me to remain indifferent?"

Seraphina's smile was all teeth. "Oh, involvement is fine. I just hope it's genuine. One wonders if you've truly found your calling in event planning or if this is just another passing phase."

Delphia's fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the folio before she forced herself to relax; Seraphina was baiting her, trying to provoke a reaction. "I assure you, my interest in the tea party's success is quite genuine. After all, it reflects on the family."

"Ah, yes. The family," Seraphina said, feigning a sigh. "You've suddenly grown so concerned about our reputation. Quite the turnaround from the 'Delphia' who once stormed out of a luncheon because she didn't receive the 'right' pastries."

Delphia's heart gave a faint flutter of annoyance, but she kept her tone cool. "I recall that incident differently," she said, opening the folio and scanning the names. "But the past is the past, Seraphina. We're both more interested in the future now, aren't we?"

Seraphina's eyes narrowed slightly. "If you say so," she replied, leaning back and observing Delphia quietly for a moment, as if looking for cracks in her façade.

"The guest list includes House Faremont's representative, the Mooresbanes, the Witchades, and a few notable mage families. The teas have been chosen carefully, the pastries arranged in three courses."

Delphia nodded slowly, turning a page. "Good. It's balanced. The Tea Party is meant to show that Vosswell Estate remains a pillar of high society. I'm sure you understand the importance of that." She said without thinking as she was looking at the papers.

"Do I understand?" Seraphina echoed, her voice dropping into a lower, more personal register. "I've always understood. The question, Delphia, is whether you understand? You've changed so abruptly—acquiring a taste for diplomacy and a tolerance for duties you once loathed. It's… suspicious."

Delphia looked up then, meeting Seraphina's gaze head-on. "Suspicious? People grow, Seraphina. It happens."

"Yes, but rarely overnight." She tapped a finger on the armrest of her chair. "Perhaps you're hiding something behind this newfound poise. Maybe there's an angle I'm not seeing."

Delphia felt the tension coil tighter inside her chest, but she channeled it into a calm breath. "'Hiding something?'" She questioned with a laugh. "It's called 'growing up;' All it took was a decent knock to the head for me to see things clearly. I'm tired of the games at play. I'll be married off this coming year before you know it—you as well in no time—so it's time to step into that part of life. I want this tea party to be a success as much as you do."

Seraphina's smile was thin as a razor. "I hope so. Because one misstep, one poorly chosen guest or topic of conversation could unravel everything you're trying to build here."

Delphia's jaw tightened, and she forced herself to match Seraphina's intensity with a serene front. "I'm quite aware of the stakes, thank you. Now, let's talk about the performances. Musical interludes are listed here. Are the musicians confirmed?"

"Confirmed and briefed," Seraphina said, adjusting herself in the chair arrogantly. "They know to keep the atmosphere light and refined. No dramatic showpieces."

"Perfect." Delphia said, studying the sheet. "And the timing between courses?"

"Staggered to maintain interest," Seraphina replied insipidly. "As listed, we'll open with a floral blend of tea, then move on to the spiced blend during the second course, and end with something soothing and sweet. It should keep the guests engaged."

Delphia glanced up, "Good. Thank you for handling these details. I know it couldn't have been easy ensuring everything meets expectations."

Seraphina paused, perhaps caught off guard by the genuine acknowledgment. Her eyes flicked over Delphia's face. "At least you recognize my effort. We'll revisit any last-minute adjustments the day before the event."

"Of course." Delphia stood, carefully closing the folio and passing it back. The tension still hummed between them, like a taut string not yet plucked. Seraphina rose as well, smoothing her gown. "Just remember, Delphia—appearances count for everything in this world. If your 'new self' falters at the party, don't be surprised if tongues start wagging."

Delphia inclined her head, a small, enigmatic smile on her lips. "Appearances do matter," she agreed. "I'll make sure mine is impeccable."

With that, Seraphina swept out of the tearoom, leaving Delphia alone amidst the softly lit space. The weight of the upcoming tea party pressed on her mind, but she refused to let Seraphina's barbs unsettle her.

Delphia glanced at the door, then at the quiet interior of the tearoom. The tea party would be a test, not just of her composure but of her ability to shape her own narrative. And if Seraphina wanted to probe for weaknesses, so be it.Delphia would face the challenge head-on.

The evening light had faded to a gentle dusk, and the Estate's corridors stretched out before her, silent and knowing. Soon enough, the tea party would come, and with it, Delphia's chance to solidify her place in this world—or risk unraveling everything she'd changed since she woke up in it.

The hush of the Estate's east wing deepened as Delphia made her way down the corridor, the echo of her footsteps softened by the thick carpets beneath her heels. The tension from her meeting with Seraphina still clung to her like the remnants of cold perfume—subtle, but persistent. However she let it drift off her shoulders with every step toward the one place she knew would give her a brief reprieve: the library.

She hadn't explored much of it yet since waking in this world, but the layout came back in fragments—rows upon rows of dark oak shelves, dust-muffled silence, the faint scent of old parchment and polish. A comforting sort of stillness, really. She needed information, context—something to tether her understanding of this Kingdom beyond vague memories from the novel. If she was to maneuver in this world, she needed to know it inside and out.

The library door opened with a smooth creak, and the familiar scent of old books rushed to greet her. The interior was dim but warm—lamplight glinting off brass fixtures and high windows half-veiled in velvet drapery.

Her eyes flicked across the room—only to pause.

Lucian Vosswell sat in one of the alcoves near the central hearth, half-reclined in a leather-backed chair with a book propped lazily across one knee. His coat had been shrugged off and slung across the armrest, and a few ink-stained notes rested beside a neat stack of textbooks. He hadn't noticed her yet, his sharp profile softened in concentration as he scribbled something down, brow faintly furrowed.

Delphia considered turning back. But she wasn't about to slink away like an interloper in her own home.

Instead, she moved toward the far shelf near the history section, heels whispering quietly across the floor. She scanned the spines, fingers brushing over titles in search of something—anything—relevant to the Kingdom's political formation or major turning points.

"You're looking in the wrong section." His voice drifted towards her.

Delphia froze, then turned her head slightly. Lucian hadn't even glanced up from his notes, but there was a smugness in his tone that pulled the corners of her mouth into a faint smirk.

"Am I?" She replied coolly.

Lucian finally looked up, eyes the same blue as his father's, but without the polish of age or discipline. His gaze was piercing, but not unkind—just observant, with the faintest gleam of amusement under it.

"Unless you're trying to learn about the kingdom's grain taxes from a century ago," he said, gesturing vaguely, "you'll want the third shelf to the left. Historical treatises are arranged by region, not chronology."

Delphia arched an eyebrow. "How helpful of you."

"Surprised?" He asked, lips quirking. "You never struck me as the reading type."

"I suppose I never struck you as the thinking type either," she said smoothly, shifting toward the indicated shelf. "Yet here we are. Both of us full of surprises."

Lucian let out a short laugh—quiet, sharp, almost involuntary. "Well. Someone's grown claws."

"Someone's always had them. You just never noticed," Delphia replied without turning.

She trailed her fingers along the spines until she found a thin, bound text titled: Abridged Histories of the Western Realms. She pulled it down and flipped briefly through the pages—concise overviews, annotated margins, and just enough depth to give her bearings. It would do for now.

Behind her, Lucian returned to his writing. The scratching of his pen resumed, steady and precise, but the air between them still hummed with a quiet tension.

"I heard about the tea party," he said after a pause, not looking up.

"Everyone has," Delphia replied evenly.

"Actually planning it yourself this time?" He asked, tone light but lined with barbs.

"Of course," she said, sliding the book beneath her arm. "Who else would take responsibility? You?"

Lucian gave a faint snort. "Certainly not. I don't care for social peacocking."

"No, you care for books and pointed remarks. A noble pursuit, I suppose." She faintly smirked.

"Better than hosting a parade of powdered nobles pretending to like one another." He responded.

Delphia turned then, studying him. "And yet, even 'powdered nobles' shape the world—while 'bookish boys' sit in corners thinking themselves superior."

That finally earned her a proper glance—slightly affronted, slightly intrigued.

"You really have changed," Lucian said, gaze narrowing slightly.

"I've just woken up to life," she said simply.

"Hmm," he hummed, leaning back in his chair again, arms crossing behind his head. "Or you've finally figured out how to play the game."

She tilted her head. "And what about you, Lucian? Still pretending you're above it all?"

"Someone in this house has to be honest about the farce," he said, then paused, tone growing slightly softer. "Just be careful, Delphia. The court doesn't take kindly to sudden reinventions. They tend to pull masks off just to see who's underneath."

Her gaze lingered on him, assessing. It was the first time his voice had held something that resembled caution, not disdain. Not quite kindness, but perhaps… familiarity.

"I'm not wearing a mask," she said, voice quieter now. "I've simply decided to face reality."

Lucian didn't respond immediately. He only nodded once, slowly, before glancing down at his book again. "Then I hope you've thought about what comes after."

Delphia didn't reply. She simply turned and walked away, the book clutched beneath her arm, her footsteps echoing softly through the hush of the library.