I stood alone in the center of my chamber, the silence pressing against my ears as the memories of the novel flickered like dying embers.
Two routes. In the original story, Draven had two choices at the border, but Stephen only needed one.
He was planning to flood the West with every man he had—a concentrated massacre that no warrior, not even the Ghost Duke, could survive.
If I did nothing, Draven would be dead by dawn.
If I warned him directly, Stephen would set me up for adultery before I could even reach the stables.
I needed to be Stephen's doubt.
I smoothed my fine silks, masking my frantic heartbeat behind a mask of bored coldness, and returned to the study.
Stephen was still there, draped over Draven's leather chair like a shroud.
He looked up, a mocking brow arched.
"Back so soon, my Duchess? Did you forget to kiss your freedom goodbye?"
I didn't flinch.
I walked toward the desk with a measured, haunting calm, looking down at the maps spread before him.
"I was thinking about the routes, Stephen," I said, my voice as thin and sharp as a blade.
"The West is the obvious choice. So obvious, it's a trap in itself. Draven is predictable in his brilliance;
he knows you expect him to take the most efficient path.
He knows you're watching the West."
Stephen's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he gripped the armrests.
"What are you suggesting? My reports are absolute. He is heading West."
"And if he senses the weight of your presence?"
I whispered, leaning over the mahogany table until our shadows merged.
"If he pivots to the East at the last second, you've lost everything. You'll be sitting in this chair while he rides through the front gates to take your head because you put all your weight on a single door."
I watched the flicker of uncertainty cross his face. Paranoia was a powerful poison.
If I could make him fear Draven's unpredictability, I could force him to spread his men thin.
"You're a master of the board, Stephen," I continued, playing to his vanity.
"Don't let him slip through a crack. A wall can be climbed, but a dragnet... a dragnet is inescapable.
If it were me, I would want eyes everywhere. I would want his path so crowded with small, hidden pockets of men that he has nowhere to run, rather than one large army he can see from a mile away."
Stephen sat back, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm. I could see the gears turning.
He was no longer thinking of a massacre; he was thinking of a hunt.
"Splitting the forces," he murmured.
"Covering the secondary trails... yes. It prevents him from doubling back."
"Exactly," I said, my voice a silken trap. "But what do I know? I'm just a woman waiting for her suffering to end."
I turned and walked away before he could see the triumph in my eyes.
I had just convinced his executioner to move half the firing squad to an empty forest.
Draven would no longer face an army in the West; he would face a fragmented force. And in a fair fight, the Ghost Duke was invincible.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: STRATEGIC SABOTAGE SUCCESSFUL]
[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THE NEXT 48 HOURS UNTIL THE DUKE'S RETURN]
I reached my chamber and locked the door, my knees finally giving way. I had just saved the man who cast me to the floor. Now, I just had to hope he was as lethal as the stories claimed.
***
I sat by the window, the ticking of the wall clock sounding like the slow drip of a guillotine.
One day had almost bled into two, and the silence of the estate was suffocating. I had done everything I could:
I had fractured Stephen's forces, sowed doubt in his mind, and gambled my life on Draven's lethality.
Now, all I could do was wait to see if I was a savior or a widow.
Suddenly, the heavy stillness of the afternoon was shattered.
The iron gates groaned open, followed by the thunderous, rhythmic strike of hooves on stone.
I rushed to the balcony, my heart lodged in my throat.
Draven was back.
He didn't return slumped over a saddle or surrounded by wounded men.
He rode through the center of the courtyard with a terrifying, cold grace.
As he dismounted, I searched for any sign of a struggle—a torn tunic, a blood-soaked bandage, even a single scratch on his face.
There was nothing. He was completely untouched, his armor gleaming as if he had merely gone for a morning ride rather than survived a lethal ambush.
He walked into the mansion, his cape billowing behind him, his boots striking the floor with an angry, echoing finality.
I stepped out into the hallway just as he reached the top of the stairs. Stephen was already there, standing near the shadows, and I saw the color drain from his face.
Stephen's eyes darted to me, wide and filled with a frantic, silent question: How is he alive?
Draven didn't even look at us. His jaw was set, and his eyes were like frozen obsidian.
The air around him felt charged with a murderous static.
He looked less like a man and more like a god of war who had just discovered a nest of rats in his home.
"Draven?" I whispered, the name catching in my throat.
He didn't stop. He didn't acknowledge my presence or Stephen's existence.
He marched straight toward his chambers, the sheer force of his anger making the guards flinch and flatten themselves against the walls.
The heavy doors to his room slammed shut with a boom that shook the floorboards.
`The realization almost made me smile, a lethal, low murmur hiding my victory. "You didn't do it," I whispered. "You didn't split the men..."
Stephen let out a jagged, pathetic laugh, his hands trembling against the stone wall.
"Why would I? I thought you were playing me, Seraphina. I thought you were trying to lead me away from the kill so he could escape through the West.
I sent every single man I had to the West Pass. I was so sure... I was so pleased with my own genius."
He looked at the empty hallway where Draven had just passed, his eyes wide with the realization of his own stupidity.
"But he wasn't there. He actually took the East. He took the very path you 'suggested,' and because I was so busy trying to outsmart you, I left the East wide open. I cleared the way for him myself".
Although my plan didn't unfold exactly the way I had intended, it still worked. I had rattled Stephen's mind enough, twisting his thoughts until caution turned into paranoia.
But I couldn't let him see me tremble. If I wanted to stay alive, I had to keep playing the part of the calculating strategist who was "disappointed" in her partner's stupidity.
I forced a look of sharp, biting disdain onto my face and stepped into his space, my voice dropping to a lethal, hushed murmur.
"You fool," I hissed, leaning in just enough to see him flinch. "Your greed didn't just make you blind—it made you a disaster."
Stephen's head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot and searching mine for a joke.
"I was sure, Seraphina! Every logic dictated the West pass! Why would I listen to a woman who has spent her life being a bored socialite?"
I let out a sharp, mocking laugh, though internally I was thanking every lucky star that he was so predictable.
"And that is why you failed. You were so busy trying to 'outsmart' me, so terrified that I was leading you into a trap, that you abandoned the only path Draven would actually take.
You kept every man in the West because you thought I was bluffing about the East."
I tilted my head, my eyes cold and dismissive. "You cleared the way for him yourself. You literally opened the door for the Ghost Duke.
Do you have any idea how it looks? To have an army of two hundred men sitting in the mud while he rides home without even needing to draw his sword?"
"I... I can fix this," he stuttered, his hands shaking as he adjusted his silks.
"Fix it?" I let a small, jagged smile touch my lips—the kind that didn't reach my eyes.
"Draven is in that room right now. He knows that silence on the East route doesn't happen by accident. He knows someone manipulated the board.
While you were playing your petty games, you gave him the greatest gift possible: the knowledge that someone in this house is trying to kill him."
I looked him up and down with a look of practiced disgust, even as I mentally calculated how to distance myself from him.
"Don't you dare look at me for help when he starts hunting. You had the chance to be a king, Stephen. Instead, you've shown yourself to be a jester."
I turned on my heel, my charcoal silk skirts snapping like a whip.
I kept my chin high and my stride arrogant until I rounded the corner and ducked into a small alcove.
The second I was out of his sight, I slumped against the wall, my knees nearly buckling.
My hands were shaking so hard I had to bury them in my skirts. I did it. I saved him, and Stephen thinks he's the one who messed up.
In his attempt to outthink me, he overcomplicated everything—so much so that he forgot the simplest truth: Draven most often passed through the East route.
I had won Stephen's trust. And now, I was ready to use it to unravel him piece by piece.
I had barely reached the end of the passage when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind me.
I turned to find Martha, one of the senior maids, her face pale and her hands fidgeting with her apron.
"My Lady," she whispered, her voice tight with nerves. "The Duke... he has called for you. Immediately."
My heart gave a violent thud against my ribs. I looked back at the closed doors of his chamber.
The rage I had felt radiating from him earlier hadn't dissipated; if anything, the silence following his arrival felt like the breath the world takes before a storm breaks.
What does he know?
Had he found a link I missed? Or was he simply returning to finish the "punishment" he had started on the floor?
I smoothed the front of my gown, forcing my hands to stop shaking, and turned toward the lion's den.
"Did he say what it was about, Martha?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
"No, My Lady," she swallowed hard. "Only that you were to come at once. He... he is not in a pleasant mood."
Understatement of the century.
I smoothed the front of my gown, took a steadying breath, and turned back toward his wing.
I had just successfully manipulated a Duke into weakening an ambush, and I had tricked a traitor into trusting me.
I had to believe I could survive Draven, too.