The Silver Hare was filled with the usual clientele—mercenaries nursing their drinks, spies trading whispers in dimly lit corners, and noble emissaries pretending not to notice the criminals beside them. It was a place where allegiances were as fragile as glass and where a misplaced word could cost a life.
Lucien sat at his table, his gloved fingers tapping idly against the wooden surface. He did not look in Seraphina's direction, but he knew she was watching him.
She's waiting to see if I'll make the first move.
He wouldn't.
Instead, he raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of wine. It was cheap—far beneath his tastes—but he drank it all the same.
A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision. Seraphina had risen from her seat. She was coming to him.
Predictable.
A Dance of Lies
Seraphina Nachtveil slid into the chair across from him, resting her elbow on the table as she swirled the wine in her glass. Her eyes, a cold shade of silver, gleamed with amusement.
"You're either very bold," she mused, "or very foolish to walk into this place so openly."
Lucien set his glass down, tilting his head slightly. "And which do you think I am?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "I haven't decided yet."
A lesser man might have mistaken her tone for flirtation. Lucien knew better.
Seraphina was probing. Testing the waters. Trying to determine if he was a mere pawn or something far more dangerous.
He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "I hear Velmoria has changed since I was last here."
"A lot has changed," she said, taking a slow sip of her wine. "The Valehart name is nothing but an afterthought now."
She was baiting him. A deliberate attempt to provoke a reaction.
Lucien didn't flinch. Instead, he chuckled softly. "A shame. They had such potential."
For a fleeting second, something flickered in Seraphina's gaze. Curiosity. Suspicion. Recognition.
She was smart. But Lucien was smarter.
The First Thread
Seraphina placed her glass down and folded her hands together. "Let's not play games, Aldcroft. Or should I say... something else?"
Lucien smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Names are nothing but tools. We wear them like masks, don't we?"
She exhaled, tilting her head. "So tell me, masked man, why are you here?"
Lucien met her gaze, unwavering. "To plant a seed."
A long silence stretched between them.
Seraphina, to her credit, did not let her expression waver. But Lucien could sense it—the slight tension in her posture, the careful way she measured his words.
A seed.
Not a move. Not a plan. A seed.
Something small. Insignificant at first glance. But given time, it would grow into something unstoppable.
Seraphina leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "And what kind of seed would that be?"
Lucien's smile widened, ever so slightly.
"You'll see soon enough."
End of Chapter 2