Three days later, Seraphina was elbow-deep in velvet swatches and mild dissatisfaction.
"You'd think," she said, running her fingers over a deep red fabric, "that a shop called Silken Debauchery would at least carry something that makes people consider ruining their lives."
Rhys, currently clothed (barely), leaned against the display wall. "So this is a scouting mission... for fabric."
Seraphina lifted a dress with an elegant side slit and a cascade of silver embroidery. "This is a tactical investment. Fear is useful, but desire gets you invited to parties you're not supposed to be at."
Lucien, doing his best not to be here, was quietly hiding behind a rack of corsets and actively pretending he didn't know either of them. Lord Snobberly curled up in a discarded hatbox near his feet, judging everyone.
A group of noblewomen passed through the shop, all silk smiles and sharp eyes. One of them made a small, precise sound. A "tsk."
Seraphina did not acknowledge it.
She didn't have to. Her dress choice would do the talking later.
Fifteen minutes and a deeply offended baroness later, they stepped out into the capital's open-air marketplace.
"Where to next?" Rhys asked, casually watching Seraphina like she might try to buy the sun.
"I want something... unexpected," she said, licking honey from her finger as they passed a booth selling candied fruit. "Something that makes people nervous."
"You say that like you're not already making people nervous."
They turned a corner—into a space packed with shouting, dust, and movement. An open arena. Not sanctioned. Not polite.
Inside, two men fought. Brutal, bare-knuckled, and all too real.
One caught Seraphina's attention immediately.
Tall. Broad. Dark-skinned. Braided hair pulled back. His stance was grounded, silent, dangerous. Not flashy—efficient. And when he landed the winning blow, he didn't gloat. Just stood there like a monument, daring the world to try again.
Seraphina pointed. "That one."
Rhys raised an eyebrow. "You want to hire a pit fighter?"
"I want to recruit one," she said, adjusting her sleeves. "Gladiators make excellent first impressions at council meetings."
Lucien exhaled through his nose. "I assume this is part of a larger plan."
"It always is."
The auctioneer approached. "Ah, milady, fine eye. That one's fresh from the border skirmishes. Difficult temperament, limited conversation, excellent stamina."
Seraphina didn't blink. "How much?"