The duel was two days behind her. The rumors, unfortunately, were not.
Seraphina reclined in her half-broken estate chair, sipping black tea like it owed her something. Rhys sat nearby, sharpening a dagger he probably didn't need. Lucien stood by the fireplace doing absolutely nothing and looking very tense about it.
The cats were thriving.
Snobberly was balanced on the mantle like an ancient idol. Murderpaws had knocked over a tray of biscuits. Sir Vomits-a-Lot was guarding the front door like a furry, disapproving gargoyle.
Then came the knock.
A courier stood in the doorway, pale and shaking, holding an envelope so ornate it practically screamed "Royal nonsense incoming."
Seraphina took it. Broke the seal. Read.
"Let me guess," Rhys muttered. "Royal assassination notice?"
Lucien murmured, "Please be taxes."
She smiled faintly. "The Crown Prince has invited me to tea."
Both men froze.
"You're on that list?" Lucien asked slowly.
"I think I made the list when I seduced his cousin's fiancé by accident."
Rhys blinked. "That was an accident?"
"…Mostly."
Before they could spiral into new levels of moral concern, another letter arrived. No knock this time—just heavy footsteps and the scent of lavender rage. The envelope was pressed into Lucien's hand by a manservant who muttered, "From the Countess of Velloria."
That name hit like frostbite.
Lucien looked up. "Your mother?"
"Unfortunately."
She took the letter, read exactly two lines, and then tossed it directly into the fireplace.
"You didn't even finish it," Rhys said.
"I recognized the tone. It's the same one she used when she told me I embarrassed the Velloria name by existing with emotions."
Lucien cleared his throat. "She did legally strip you of your name."
"And gifted me Ashgrave, which was code for 'rot in silence.' But look how that turned out."
She gestured to the cracked ceiling, the cats, and her personal militia of emotionally damaged men. Regal.
Then Snobberly leapt onto the table and pushed a sealed envelope across it. The word "UNINVITED" had been stamped on the front—twice.
Seraphina raised a brow.
"I didn't send this," she said.
"That's the guest list," Lucien said, inspecting the parchment. "For your gala."
Everyone stared at Snobberly.
He batted another envelope off the table and into a bowl of jam.
"Well," Seraphina said calmly, "the cat's curating."