The invitation arrived at midday.
Formal. Immaculate. Sealed with the crest of House Veyrath.
Seraphina turned it once between her fingers, studying the wax—not cracked, not rushed. Deliberate. Confident. The kind of seal used by those who believed refusal was not an option.
"They've chosen their moment," she murmured.
The sigils along the walls stirred faintly, alert but restrained. The stronghold did not object to the summons. That alone told her this meeting was sanctioned.
Curated.
Approved.
She broke the seal.
Lady Nightborne,
House Veyrath humbly requests the honor of your presence for a private reconciliation dialogue.
In the interest of unity, transparency, and peace.
Seraphina smiled.
"Unity," she repeated softly. "That's new."
The escort arrived within the hour—six guards instead of four, their formation ceremonial rather than protective. Damien was conspicuously absent.
That, too, was intentional.
⸻
The council's auxiliary chamber had been prepared for the meeting—smaller than the main hall, warmer, lit by amber witchlight instead of cold silver. A round table stood at the center, its surface polished to a mirror sheen.
Equality, the room suggested.
No hierarchy.
No corners to hide in.
House Veyrath waited inside.
Lord Maelor Veyrath rose as Seraphina entered, his expression carefully arranged into something approaching humility. His hair was silver at the temples, his posture impeccable. He had survived three reigns by knowing when to bow.
"My lady," he said warmly. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
She inclined her head. "Your letter was… persuasive."
A flicker crossed his eyes.
Good. He'd heard the edge.
"Please," he gestured. "Sit."
She took the seat opposite him.
Two other Veyrath representatives remained standing—advisors, both trained to observe rather than speak. Neither met her gaze for long.
Fear, disguised as decorum.
Lord Maelor folded his hands on the table. "We regret the… misunderstandings that have arisen."
"Misunderstandings?" Seraphina echoed.
"Yes," he said smoothly. "The past has a way of distorting intentions."
"The past," she replied, "is usually very clear to the dead."
Silence settled.
Then Maelor chuckled softly. "You speak plainly. A Nightborne trait, I hear."
"So you've heard," she said.
"We believe," he continued, unfazed, "that old grievances need not define the future."
Seraphina leaned back slightly. "House Veyrath once sponsored the legislation that dismantled Nightborne protections."
Maelor's smile did not falter. "In a time of fear."
"You financed the purges."
"In a time of chaos."
"You took our estates."
"In a time of restructuring."
She tilted her head. "You killed my uncle."
That earned a pause.
Just a heartbeat too long.
Maelor inhaled. "Allegedly."
Seraphina's blood stirred faintly—not enough for the sigils to react, but enough for her to feel its displeasure.
"You didn't come here to apologize," she said calmly.
"No," Maelor admitted. "We came to stabilize."
"By aligning yourselves with me?" she asked.
"By standing beside you," he corrected. "Publicly."
Ah.
There it was.
"You wish to be seen," she said, "as my allies."
"Yes."
"So when the council falls," she continued, "you can say you were always on the right side."
Maelor spread his hands. "Power shifts. Houses adapt."
"And what do I gain?" she asked.
"Protection," he said. "Influence. Support."
She laughed quietly.
"You mean a leash," she said.
His smile thinned. "A partnership."
Seraphina leaned forward, placing her palms flat on the table.
The surface reflected her face—calm, composed, eyes sharp.
"House Veyrath," she said softly, "has never partnered with anyone they could not discard."
Maelor met her gaze steadily. "And yet here you sit."
Because you arranged it, she thought.
Because you wanted to see if I would flinch.
"I will consider your proposal," she said aloud.
The advisors exchanged a glance.
Maelor's brows lifted slightly. "That is… generous."
"I am generous," she replied. "When it suits me."
She rose.
The meeting was over, whether they liked it or not.
As she turned to leave, Maelor spoke again.
"One more thing, my lady."
She paused, but did not look back.
"There are rumors," he said carefully. "That the stronghold is responding to you."
Her fingers curled slightly.
"Rumors travel quickly," she said.
"They do," he agreed. "Especially when something ancient begins to stir."
She faced him then.
"Be careful, Lord Veyrath," she said quietly. "You mistake proximity for permission."
His smile returned—but this time, it did not reach his eyes.
⸻
The corridor outside felt colder.
The escort resumed formation, tighter now.
As they walked, Seraphina felt it—a subtle shift in the wards. The stronghold had noted the meeting. Catalogued it.
Approved nothing.
She lifted her chin.
"They think they can stand beside me," she murmured.
The sigils pulsed faintly.
Agreement—or warning.
Behind her, unseen, House Veyrath began preparing for a future they believed they could control.
They were wrong.
Because Seraphina Nightborne had not accepted their alliance.
She had marked them.
And in the quiet spaces between stone and memory, something old and patient took note.