Chapter 4: Afternoon Tea Disaster

I walk to afternoon tea like I'm walking to my death. Mira is braiding my hair too tightly. My head feels like it's going to explode.

"My Lady," she whispers to my ear.

"Just smile. Nod.

Say little."

"Villains don't work that way," I retort.

"Living people do," Mira insists, and the logic is sound.

The hallways here are even worse than before; the whispers have gone from 'ruined the ball' to 'she's mentally unwell' to 'send her to a convent'. A remarkable progression. I feel the stare of everyone in the palace like physical objects embedded in my back.

The lily man is probably out there somewhere, taking down notes and observations. 'Chapter 4: Insult the Viscountess'. My sleeve is burning.

The great doors to the drawing room fly open and a wave of tea and judging eyes rushes over me.

Four women. Four pairs of eyes narrowed on me. At the center sits Viscountess Hart; layers of thick pearls around her neck and her mouth a constant quivering mass. To her right, sit two unfamiliar women, who are already smirking.

To her left, standing at the far end of the room in white, AGAIN, is Lady Elara.

As I sweep in, Lady Elara stands. "Lady Seraphina! How brave of you to attend."

Brave, really. According to the book, this is the part of the chapter where I get killed. I curtsy properly.

"Lady Elara.

Viscountess Hart.

Ladies."

They have begun pouring tea before I'm seated. A fragile porcelain cup and saucer sit before me with a small silver spoon.

Those four pairs of eyes watch my every motion like hungry hawks anticipating their next meal.

Viscountess Hart meticulously dabs her full lips with her napkin. "Lady Seraphina! We heard about the ball yesterday.

What a shame for you."

I hear: 'We heard you made a complete fool of yourself'. "Oh, it was," I chirped brightly, producing the signature sharp, cold smile.

"I couldn't believe how incredibly energetic the wine was."

I pretend to fiddle with a speck of dust on my skirt. "Popped right out of the glass! I don't know what caused that." The two side women give choked, surprised snorts.

Elara regards me with a calm, considering look over her china cup; she seems amused.

The book calls for me to unleash venom right about now; I'm supposed to scream " unlike you, I haven't yet managed to become a widow by being an idiot," before toppling her teacup onto her person and receiving a resounding slap. My sleeve is practically searing.

'Embarrass the whole family.'

Instead, I lean forward. I pick up the teacup gingerly and take a small, delicate sip before setting it back down. "Viscountess Hart!

You have to tell me.

Your dear husband had such impeccable taste.

This must be Wedgwood, no?"

Her mouth opens and closes several times before she finds a voice.

"Yes."

"It's exquisite," I say, my voice dreamy as I scan the table.

"It's simply wonderful to sit at a table that values all things elegant and civilized.

A welcome relief."

I sip my tea politely, sending a deliberate, meaningful glance at the women on the other side.

There is a beat of absolute, stunned silence. Elara's cup is suspended mid-air, halfway to her lips. I had actually complimented them.

I had defended my enemy.

I had thrown page 1 of Chapter 4 out the window. Viscountess Hart looks like I've just slapped her across the face. "Why...

Thank you, Lady Seraphina."

"It is I who should thank you," I say, now my smile widens, a predatory glint in my eyes.

"You women are surely not going to put up with that sort of uncivilized chaos?

We are women, after all."

The room looks a little stunned to have been addressed as a cohesive group of civilized ladies versus drunken ruffians.

That's exactly what I wanted. Suddenly, a loud CRASH echoes through the drawing room; the servant behind Elara must have lost hold of the silver tea service. Everyone jumps as tea and broken porcelain shatters onto the marble floor and, in the middle of the ceramic wreckage, a single white lily gleams starkly.

My heart sinks.

Cold. Someone is out there. Someone is ensuring I stick to the plot. Viscountess Hart makes a small, horrified noise.

The other two ladies clutch their necklaces tightly.

Elara's eyes darted around the room, her hand pressed to her mouth in obvious, yet simulated, dismay. But it's not the shattered china she's focused on; it's the source of the disruption. A moment later, the drawing room doors bang open and Duke Cassian stands silhouetted in the doorway; he is drenched and his black cloak drips ominously onto the Persian rug, leaving a dark stain.

His eyes are black, burning pits of rage, and locked only on me. The guests rise, all curtseying; Duke Cassian. "Lady Seraphina," his voice is like ice shards chipping.

"A word.

Now."

Mira goes chalk-white behind me. I stand up slowly, my elegant dress unsullied. I walk past Elara, she whispers in my ear, "You're not supposed to talk to her!"

I ignore it.

The Duke is waiting, and his eyes promise pure, unadulterated disaster.

Chapter 5: The Duke's Office

The walk to the Duke's study is silent, two footmen trailing behind us while the whole of the palace pretends not to observe. The study is all leather and ink and storm. Tall shelves stacked to the ceiling with dusty books rise over an unlit fireplace.

And there on the great oak desk sits a single, perfect white lily in a glass vase.

Naturally. Duke Cassian closes the door himself; it sounds so loud it makes the room vibrate.

"Sit."

I sit.

The armchair swallows me.

I look like a twelve-year-old. He doesn't sit. He paces, a dark stain continuing to spread onto the rug beneath him.

"Explain."

"Which aspect?"

I say, my voice light.

"The tea?

The lily?

The murderous threats written on a piece of paper and tucked into my sleeve?" His eyes snap to me.

"You've received another note."

It is not a question.

I pull the offending piece of paper from my sleeve, its seal a stark black, unadorned. I slide it across the desk, and he sets it ablaze with his own cigarette without a word. "Forget last night ever happened," he commands, quoting a line from his own letter of this morning.

"That still stands."

"Because apparently pretending that sort of thing is normal for us." I gesture to the white lily in the vase.

"Did you put that in here to match your new ink pens?"

"Do not mock me, Lady Seraphina." "Do not call me Lady Seraphina as if I am soon to be executed." We stare at each other for a moment. Then, the Duke sighs.

It sounds tired, human even.

"The real Lady Seraphina," he says, his voice quieter now, "would have tossed that tea in Viscountess Hart's face." "She didn't," I point out. "And now half the kingdom thinks you've gone off your rocker.

The other half, that you have something far worse up your sleeve." "Good," I lean forward again. "Let them think so.

It's safer than the truth."

"Which is?"

"That I am not Lady Seraphina. That there is someone out there who is trying to use a book I have already read to murder me. And there was a lily waiting in my chamber the night before last, and now there is a lily in your office."

His expression was unchanging. His knuckles on the back of his chair whitened.

"You think I don't know?" he said. "I've read the book too."

The ground beneath my feet seemed to tilt.

"... What."

"I received it ten years ago. As a warning. " He finally sank down in his chair and poured two glasses of water, pushing one to me.

"It says I will marry Elara Whitlock.

It says you die at the ball. It says the empire falls in five years."

The glass in my hand trembled.

"You've known all this time?"

"I knew someone would be sent." His gaze was dark and unwavering. "I didn't know it would be you."

A heavy silence fell. The rain outside the window was the only sound.

"Then what do we do?" I whispered. "Do we stick to the script and die?"

"No. We burn it." The word was a solemn vow.

A wave of relief crashed through me so strongly I nearly buckled under its weight.

"Then why the note this morning?" I demanded. "'Keep your head down'?"

"Because the walls have eyes and ears, Lady Seraphina. Whoever sent you that note knows about the book as well. And If they know you are going to deviate, then the timeline will be expedited."

Expedited. I felt a little bit like someone who dropped a perfect lily in the middle of his tea.

Suddenly, there was a polite knock at the door. The footman looked pale.

"Your Grace. A message," he stammered, holding out a folded note. "From the Whitlock estate."

He took it, opened it, and read it once.

Then he lifted his head to me.

"Lady Elara will be hosting a garden party. Three days hence." He dropped the note on his desk. "According to the book, you will have publicly slapped her and be found dead from poisoning from lemonade."

My stomach plummeted.

"So..." I said slowly. "Three days."

"Three days," he repeated, his gaze unwavering. "Until Chapter 6."

He picked up the single lily on his desk and snapped the stem cleanly.

"We have work to do, Lady Seraphina."

He cracked a nearly imperceptible smile-the closest I had ever seen it, or perhaps even witnessed it for the first time.

And I, finally, walked toward my future, not entirely blind.

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Author's Note:

HE KNEW. HE HAD READ THE BOOK TOO. Comment "DUKE AND SERAPHINA SUPREMACY" IF YOU're screaming with me. THREE DAYS UNTIL THE GARDEN PARTY.