A game of wits

A Game of Wits

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the polished marble floor as Logan Milburn strode into the dimly lit chamber, his sharp gaze locking onto Amelia with unmistakable disapproval. The tension in the room thickened, like an approaching storm.

"You can never like her," Logan warned, his voice firm yet edged with something unspoken-concern, perhaps?

Ceaser, seated in his high-backed chair near the hearth, looked up from the parchment he had been scanning. His deep blue eyes narrowed slightly.

"Excuse me?" he questioned, his tone laced with irritation.

"Don't fall into her-I mean, her trap," Logan repeated, crossing his arms.

Ceaser leaned back, studying his aide's expression. "Trap? What the hell are you talking about?"

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You didn't forget, did you? That's Amelia Florian. She's not as innocent as she seems."

Ceaser scoffed, turning his attention back to the parchment in his hand. "You're overreacting. This is just a contracted marriage. I'm just using her."

Logan's lips pressed into a thin line. "But you can never tell what's next up her sleeve." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "You're already falling for the trap."

Ceaser rolled his eyes. "She doesn't seem like the cunning type."

Logan sighed in frustration. "That's exactly why she's dangerous. She looks harmless, but she's far from it." His voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. "And... I also heard she has connections with that person."

Ceaser's expression finally changed. He stiffened, his fingers curling slightly over the armrest.

"...Which person?"

Logan hesitated, his gaze dropping momentarily before returning to Ceaser's.

"Your brother."

A heavy silence settled over the room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that filled the void between them.

Ceaser's jaw clenched.

"They have a very... unique relationship," Logan continued carefully. "It doesn't look like they're just friends."

Ceaser's fingers twitched. His grip on the parchment tightened as his mind worked through the implications.

"Are you sure about that?" His voice was colder now, dangerously so.

Logan hesitated before giving a slow nod. "Y-yes, Your Highness."

Ceaser said nothing, his expression unreadable, but the flicker of emotion in his gaze betrayed the thoughts racing through his mind.

---

After what felt like an eternity, Amelia stirred from her deep slumber. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of the curtains as a cool breeze slipped through the slightly open balcony doors. She blinked, rubbing her eyes, adjusting to the dim candlelight.

Her heart sank as she looked around.

"Where is he?" she muttered, pushing the thick covers off her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cold marble floor.

Her lips formed a slight pout. Did he leave without me?

She wrapped her arms around herself. "That liar... he said he'd take me with him," she mumbled, frustration creeping into her voice.

Crossing her arms, she sat back down on the bed, determined. "I'm not leaving this room until he comes back."

She shifted to a more comfortable position, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the embroidery on the silk sheets.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening slightly.

Is he back?

She hesitated. If it's him, why is he knocking?

"Come in," she called out cautiously.

The heavy door creaked open, and instead of the man she was expecting, the head maid of the mansion stepped inside, bowing politely.

"Good evening, Young Master- I mean, Young Miss," the maid corrected herself, placing a small silver tray on the table. A delicate porcelain cup sat atop it, steam rising in lazy swirls from its dark contents.

Amelia's brow furrowed. "Is he back?"

The maid nodded slightly. "Yes, Miss. His Highness asked me to leave this coffee in his room."

She bowed once more before taking her leave.

Amelia stared at the cup.

The rich aroma of roasted beans filled the room, mingling with the subtle scent of lavender from the balcony.

"You want coffee now?" she muttered to herself, slowly reaching for the cup.

Lifting it to her lips, she mused, "It's not like I'm gonna die from drinking this, right?"

A smirk played on her lips as she twirled the handle between her fingers. "Will you get annoyed if I drink this, Ceaser?" she said aloud, as if speaking to him.

Then, she took a sip-

The moment the bitter liquid touched her tongue, her eyes widened in horror.

"BLEH!"

She recoiled instantly, spitting the coffee back into the cup.

"What the hell is this?!" she gasped, coughing.

Her face twisted in disgust. How can he drink something this awful?

Her fingers curled around the handle as she stomped toward the balcony. She leaned over, pouring the rest of the coffee onto the potted plant sitting near the railing.

She muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "One sip and I feel like I've been poisoned..."

Just as she turned around-

BAM!

The door swung open.

A gust of cold air rushed in, but Amelia barely noticed it. Her eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.

Ceaser Romano.

His tall frame was clad in his usual dark attire, his coat draped loosely over his shoulders. His gaze, piercing as ever, immediately landed on her.

And then-his eyes flicked down.

To the empty coffee cup in her hands.

A slow, almost predatory smirk ghosted his lips.

"What are you doing?"

Amelia flinched, her grip on the cup tightening.

Her mind raced for an excuse, but-

"...Uh."

Nothing.

Caught red-handed.