Chapter 5: The Game Begins
"A palace is not a home. It is a battlefield where every smile hides a knife."
---
Seraphina woke to the sound of whispers.
Not the hushed murmurs of servants or the quiet rustling of silk against marble.
No.
These whispers were sharp. Secretive. The kind that only existed in places where people plotted.
Her fingers curled into the silk sheets.
She lay still, eyes half-lidded, pretending to remain asleep as she listened.
"The Emperor has not visited her chambers."
"He won't. She's just another pawn."
"Then why keep her here? Why not send her to the Summer Palace, away from court?"
"Because a caged bird is easier to control."
A soft laugh.
"Unless it learns to fly."
The voices faded.
Footsteps retreated.
Seraphina exhaled slowly before sitting up.
So.
They thought her powerless.
They thought Xavien had discarded her.
Good.
Let them think that.
Let them believe she was nothing more than a forgotten wife, a caged bird with clipped wings.
Because when people underestimated you, they did not see the knife until it was at their throat.
---
The court had gathered.
Xavien sat on his throne of obsidian and gold, his golden eyes cold as he observed the nobles before him.
They whispered behind their fans, their gazes shifting between him and the empty seat beside him.
The Empress's seat.
She was late.
He should have been annoyed.
But instead, he was intrigued.
Seraphina had been a puzzle since the moment she arrived—all smiles and warmth in a court of wolves. She should have broken by now, should have realized how insignificant she was in the grand scheme of his empire.
Yet she hadn't.
And that irritated him more than it should have.
A flicker of movement at the entrance.
Then—Seraphina entered.
The room fell silent.
Xavien's eyes narrowed.
She was not dressed as a forgotten wife.
No pale, demure colors. No simple silks meant to make her fade into the background.
Instead, she wore deep crimson. The color of blood. The color of power.
Her gown was embroidered with gold, the intricate patterns swirling like flames against the fabric. A delicate chain of rubies rested against her collarbone, catching the light with every step she took.
She looked like a queen.
Like she belonged in this court, not as a prisoner, but as someone who could command it.
The nobles exchanged glances.
Xavien's fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne.
What game are you playing, Seraphina?
She stopped before him, her gaze meeting his without fear.
Then—she smiled.
"Apologies for my delay, Your Majesty."
Her voice was light, almost teasing.
Almost mocking.
A challenge.
And Xavien Draethis did not ignore challenges.
---
"She is either a fool or dangerous."
Valen's voice was low as he stood beside Xavien later that evening, watching as Seraphina moved through the ballroom, speaking with noblewomen and foreign emissaries alike.
"She is not a fool," Xavien murmured.
His gaze followed her—the way she laughed, the way she tilted her head as if genuinely interested in the conversation.
She was too comfortable.
Too aware.
Too clever.
"She's adapting," Valen observed.
Xavien's lips pressed into a thin line.
Yes.
And that could be dangerous.
Because a woman who learned how to navigate his court…
Could learn how to rule it.