Chapter 4: The Garden Where Secrets Bloom
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### **Chapter 4: The Garden Where Secrets Bloom**
Midnight cloaked the Alvere estate in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of boots on dew-soaked gravel.
Seraphina walked the rose gardens alone—no entourage, no lanterns. The moonlight was enough. Pale petals glistened under its gaze, their edges rimmed with silver like ghost-fire. She trailed her fingers along the hedge walls, half-listening to the soft flutter of wings in the dark.
Felix followed ten paces behind, unseen by all but her shadow. As always.
"The second cipher's finished," he murmured. "Lady Mirelle's correspondence mentioned something… interesting. A transaction set for tomorrow night. South wharf. Payment in rubies. Recipient unnamed."
Seraphina's lips curled faintly. "And what, pray, is so valuable it's worth Mirelle's family jewels?"
Felix hesitated. "A name."
She stopped, half-turned. "Whose?"
He handed her a parchment. Ink still damp. One name, scrawled in an angular hand across a ledger of codes and dates:
**Seraphina de Alvere.**
Ah.
So the game begins in earnest.
"They're buying the blade to kill me," she said softly, more to the roses than to Felix. "How poetic. A traitor who thinks herself clever enough to outmaneuver a woman who's already lived her death once."
"Do you want me to intercept the buyer?" Felix asked.
"No," she said. "Let it happen."
His brow twitched, barely visible.
She plucked a single rose—deep crimson, nearly black—and inhaled. Its scent was heady. Heavy. Reminiscent of blood and old wine.
"Tell me, Felix," she mused, turning the flower in her fingers, "have you ever danced at the edge of a blade?"
"No, my lady."
"I have. And I must again. I want this assassin to reach me." Her voice sharpened, crystalline and cruel. "Let them try."
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The next morning, court was abuzz with a different scandal: Lady Mirelle had been caught in a tangle of rumors regarding a *misplaced* intelligence document. Nothing treasonous—just damning enough to soil a name. She wasn't arrested, of course. That would've been merciful.
Instead, she was demoted socially—moved down the seating chart. Her invitation to the Crown Prince's masquerade was quietly *revoked*.
Which, in this court, was worse than exile.
Seraphina watched the fallout unfold from her place beside the Duke of Albrecht. The man had the face of a granite cliff and the patience of a glacier. He said nothing as the nobles whispered. But when Seraphina passed him a slip of paper—an unsigned copy of Mirelle's letter—he tucked it into his sleeve without glancing down.
"You're playing with fire," he murmured.
"I was born in it," she replied.
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That evening, Seraphina's study smelled of ink and storm-swept violets.
She stood before a map of the kingdom, red ribbons tied between cities and court houses, names pinned like insects. Behind her, the black-bound book lay open on her desk. She had underlined a new passage:
> *"The assassination of Seraphina de Alvere was initially believed to be the work of revolutionaries. Only later did the court learn the truth—that the Crown itself had ordered it."*
So. That was the twist.
She had assumed she'd fall by public outcry. By scandal. But it was *the Crown*. The very man who once declared he loved her with eyes full of moonlight.
The Crown Prince.
Seraphina's smile was razor-thin.
Love was such an ugly word.
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At the stroke of midnight, she left through the servant's hall dressed in charcoal-gray travel silks. Felix followed, armed and silent. The wharf district reeked of salt and betrayal. Shadows stretched long across the dock planks, and the moon was veiled behind pregnant clouds.
They waited, unseen, in the rafters of a derelict warehouse. Below, a cloaked figure approached with a velvet pouch. Another, taller silhouette emerged to meet them.
Seraphina recognized the dagger at the second figure's hip—a curved blade gilded in obsidian, etched with ancient runes. It was no common assassin's weapon.
"A cursed blade," Felix whispered beside her. "Made to sever soul from flesh."
She watched as the rubies changed hands.
So. It was true.
They had paid in blood for her death.
"Track the assassin," Seraphina said quietly. "Do not engage. I want to know who owns their leash."
Felix nodded once and disappeared into the night.
Alone in the rafters, Seraphina felt a strange calm settle over her.
The year had begun.
The players were choosing their weapons.
And she? She had already chosen hers.
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a ring—onyx set in silver, once a token of affection from the Crown Prince himself.
She dropped it to the warehouse floor. It landed with a soft clink, barely audible over the sea breeze.
"Let them come," she whispered.
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**End of Chapter 4**