CHAPTER 2: Poison in Silk

The banquet pressed on, the air growing thicker with perfume, candle heat, and whispers that coiled like smoke. Crystal glasses clinked. Silver forks scraped porcelain. Beneath it all, the sound of shifting loyalties the softest, most dangerous music of all.

I stood by a side table laden with sugared almonds and candied pears, the wine in my hand glowing deep red under the golden lights. I let my gaze drift across the hall as if bored, but I was mapping the room every ally, every rival, every snake hiding under silk.

Damien moved through the crowd with practiced ease, greeting lords and ladies, clasping hands, bending his head just so when speaking to women. My husband-to-be, the charming predator. I knew every flicker of his smile, every tilt of his head and I knew exactly which were genuine, and which were bait.

In my first life, I had been caught on that hook.

Not tonight.

I tasted the wine dry, with a faint bitterness, and imagined how easily such a flavor could hide something lethal. My eyes lingered on Damien as he approached, his dark gaze never leaving mine.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said quietly when he reached me, his voice rich but edged with steel.

“I didn’t realize my presence was required at every moment,” I replied, swirling the wine lazily.

“This is our banquet, Serina. Appearances matter.”

I tilted my head, feigning curiosity. “Appearances mattered when you arrived with my sister on your arm, too, didn’t they?”

His smile froze for half a breath before returning, smooth as ever. “Your imagination is running away from you.”

I stepped past him without answering, the scent of my perfume lingering in the space between us like a challenge.

I didn’t head toward safety there was none here. Instead, I drifted toward Lady Ferrell, seated near the Duke’s favored courtiers. She was a plump, jeweled sparrow of a woman, with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue. In my first life, her gossip had ruined me.

“Lady Ferrell,” I said warmly, dipping into a graceful curtsy.

“Lady Serina! I hear your engagement is the talk of the season,” she cooed.

“Oh, I’m sure it is. Just as I hear your husband’s… latest generosity is the talk of a very different sort.”

Her painted smile wavered. “Generosity?”

“The necklace for his mistress,” I murmured, just loud enough for the ladies beside her to hear. “Such an unusual gift to give when one’s wife wears pearls.”

Color drained from her cheeks. Her friends exchanged glances. The damage was done before she could stammer a reply.

I patted her gloved hand, my expression one of perfect innocence. “Do take care, Lady Ferrell. The wrong word in the wrong ear can be… devastating.”

As I moved away, I caught sight of Aria by the refreshment table. She was laughing at something Damien had said, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. She turned her head just enough to spot me watching.

The laughter dimmed from her eyes.

I crossed to her, every step measured. “Sister,” I said, my smile the perfect image of sisterly affection.

“Serina. You seem… different tonight.”

“Do I? Perhaps I’ve simply learned to see people as they truly are.”

For a flicker of a moment, her mask slipped a faint tightening around her mouth before she smoothed it away. “I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself.”

I leaned in just enough for only her to hear. “I am. And I suspect I’ll enjoy myself even more in the days to come.”

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t speak. I left her there, with Damien watching me from the corner of his eye, suspicion blooming in his mind like a bruise.

Later in the evening, as the musicians began a slow, opulent waltz, I allowed myself a moment’s retreat to the balcony. The air was cool and sharp with winter’s approach, a welcome relief from the cloying warmth inside.

Footsteps followed me.

Cassian emerged from the shadows, his coat unbuttoned, a half-empty glass in his hand. “You handle them like a card sharp with a loaded deck,” he murmured.

I took a sip of wine, my lips curling faintly. “And you’re watching like a man calculating his odds.”

He tilted his head. “I’m wondering if you’re worth betting on.”

“That depends,” I said, setting my glass on the railing, “on whether you’re willing to lose a little before you win.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “I’ve always liked a slow game.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the ballroom muted behind the glass doors. Below us, the gardens stretched into shadow.

“Meet me in three nights,” he said suddenly. “The gardens at midnight.”

“For what?”

He smiled that slow, knowing smile. “To discuss how to gut a duke without spilling a drop of blood.”

And then he was gone, leaving me with the winter wind and the faint taste of danger on my tongue.