The air in the grand hall was thick with tension as the nobles of Alvar chose their sides. Thorne could almost see the line forming between the two factions: on one side, the Thornfields, and on the other, the Ravencourts. He surveyed the room, noting with dismay how the majority of the nobles gravitated toward the Ravencourts, their animated conversations and laughter indicating their allegiance.

  Lady Elena Lockridge stood near the entrance, her commanding presence unmistakable. She greeted Lord Edric Ravencourt with a warm smile and a firm handshake, exchanging a few pleasantries. It was clear there was a mutual respect between them. However, after the initial greeting, she stepped back, not fully committing to either faction. Thorne's eyes narrowed as he noticed Selene Ravencourt by her side, the young woman looking up at Lady Elena with something akin to admiration. The bond between them was evident, and it was something Thorne would need to consider moving forward.

  The Viremonts, wealthy and influential, maintained their distance as well. Lord Damien Viremont stood with a small entourage, his sharp eyes watching everything with a calculating gleam. He was speaking quietly with his son, Dorian, who looked every bit the carefree noble but had a certain wariness in his eyes. They were clearly observing the scene, waiting to see which side would offer them the greatest advantage.

  Lord Gregory Farroway was another figure who kept his distance, though his presence was felt. He was deep in conversation with a few minor lords, his expressions neutral, his words careful. Thorne knew the Farroways valued their trade interests above all else, and they would not be easily swayed without significant incentive.

  Amidst all this, Lord Edric Ravencourt stood out, a figure of quiet dignity. He was the picture of nobility, his every gesture exuding a calm authority. In stark contrast to him was Lord Thornfield, who, despite his best efforts, looked like a fish out of water. His loud laughter and boastful stories about past duels and fine wines did little to endear him to the other nobles. Thorne couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration; the Thornfields were doing themselves no favors tonight.

  Yet, it was Alaric Ravencourt, the handsome and charismatic heir to House Ravencourt, who commanded the most attention. Every young noble seemed drawn to him, hanging on his every word. Thorne noticed the way the young women watched Alaric with admiration, while the men seemed eager to be part of his inner circle. But Alaric’s attention was elsewhere—he had eyes only for Kellan Thornfield, and his gaze was filled with thinly veiled contempt.

  Kellan, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to disappear. The Thornfield heir was hunched slightly, his hands fidgeting with his wine glass. He avoided meeting Alaric’s gaze, his shoulders twitching nervously whenever someone approached him. Thorne couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. It was an insurmountable task to make Kellan look respectable, much less worthy of leading Alvar.

  Thorne glanced back at Alaric, whose eyes still bore into Kellan with a murderous intensity. The Ravencourt heir's reputation for having a temper was well known, and it was clear that Kellan’s mere presence was enough to set him on edge. The contrast between the two heirs couldn’t have been more stark. Alaric, with his confident stance and easy charm, was everything Kellan was not. But confidence could easily turn to arrogance, and that was something Thorne could use.

  He pondered the situation, a plan beginning to take shape in his mind. Kellan didn’t inspire confidence, true, but he could inspire something else—sympathy. If Thorne could maneuver things in a way that made Alaric look like the aggressor, it would put Kellan in a more favorable light, at least in the eyes of the more neutral nobles.

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing through possible scenarios. He knew that provoking Alaric would be easy. The man was already bristling with anger, and it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. All Thorne needed was the right moment, the right words, and he could turn the tables on the Ravencourts.

  A satisfied smile played on Thorne’s lips. This could work. If he could make Kellan appear sympathetic, a victim of Alaric’s aggression, it might just be enough to sway a few key nobles to their side. He would have to play it carefully, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

  Thorne’s scheming was interrupted by an enthusiastic voice beside him, pulling him back into the present. Valen Moreau appeared, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on Thorne with an almost childlike excitement, oblivious to the strained atmosphere in the room.

  “Lord Silverbane!” Valen’s voice was bright and eager, trying to get his attention, completely out of place amid the tense undercurrents of the party. “I just have to ask—what do you think is causing the aether waves? Have you noticed how they’ve been fluctuating recently? It’s unprecedented! I’ve been working on this theory—”

  Thorne held up a hand, stifling a laugh at Valen’s single-mindedness. “Valen, now’s hardly the time,” he said smoothly, his eyes drifting across the room. He could see the subtle shifts of allegiance forming, the clear line dividing the party into factions around the Thornfields and Ravencourts. “There are more pressing matters at hand tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Valen followed his gaze, confusion clouding his features. “Pressing matters? You mean the feud between the families? Yes, yes, I suppose it’s important, but just think about the implications of the recent aether fluctuations! It could mean something significant. I’ve been documenting every occurrence, and the patterns are just—”

  Thorne took a step closer to Valen, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Valen, did you hear what they’re saying about Alaric Ravencourt?” He cast a furtive glance around them, ensuring they weren’t being overheard. “Apparently, he’s been squandering the family’s fortune. Some ill-advised investments in rare wines.”

  Valen blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. “Alaric? Really? That doesn’t sound like him. He’s usually so...” He struggled for the right word, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “Reckless?” Thorne offered, his tone light but laced with suggestion. “You know how these things go. Rumors spread, and before you know it, everyone’s talking about it.”

  Valen’s eyes widened, his mind clearly racing. “But if that’s true, then the Viremonts... They’d be furious! They control most of the wine trade in Alvar. If Alaric’s actions threaten their business—”

  Thorne smiled, pleased with how quickly Valen had picked up on the implications. “Exactly. And you know how sensitive the Viremonts are about their trade. They might see it as a direct insult.”

  Valen nodded slowly, his gaze darting across the room to where the Viremonts were standing, their expressions carefully neutral. “This could cause quite a stir.”

  “It’s just a rumor, of course,” Thorne added, his tone deliberately casual. “But you know how people love to talk. It’s fascinating how these things can spread, don’t you think?”

  Valen nodded again, his eyes distant as he processed the information. “Yes, fascinating... But what if it’s not just a rumor? What if there’s some truth to it?”

  Thorne shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Who knows? But if there is, it could make tonight’s gathering very interesting, don’t you think?”

  Valen looked as if he wanted to ask more, but Thorne excused himself with a polite nod, leaving the young scholar to mull over the seeds he had planted. Thorne watched him for a moment, feeling a spark of satisfaction. One pawn was in motion.

  As Thorne moved through the crowd, he kept his eyes and ears open, scanning the room for more potential pawns. He noticed two servants huddled in a corner, their voices hushed but their expressions animated. Thorne focused his enhanced hearing, catching snippets of their conversation.

  “… did you see her with him last night? If Lord Hadrian finds out—”

  He filed the information away for later use, his gaze drifting over to where the noblewoman in question stood, her expression serene and composed, unaware of the whispers circulating behind her back. Scandals were potent tools, and it seemed there was already one waiting to be exploited.

  His eyes then fell on Devon, lurking near the shadows with his usual guarded demeanor. Thorne made his way over, the crowd parting subtly before him as he moved.

  “Find anything interesting?” Thorne asked quietly when he reached Devon, his tone casual despite the intensity in his gaze.

  Devon nodded, his eyes flicking around to ensure they weren’t being watched. “Rifled through the Lockridge study. Found a few documents that might be useful. Financial records, troop movements—nothing concrete yet, but it’s a start. Rielle’s searching upstairs, but there are guards everywhere. It’s slowing us down.”

  Thorne nodded thoughtfully, his mind already working through the next steps. “Good. But I need you to do something else now.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Start spreading a few whispers among the servants. Something about Alaric Ravencourt mismanaging the family’s fortune, and Kellan Thornfield is the one that found it out. You know the drill—make it sound plausible, but keep it subtle.”

  Devon didn’t question the order, simply nodded and disappeared into the crowd with the ease of someone used to blending into the background. Thorne watched him go, then turned his attention back to the room.

  He spotted a group of younger nobles gathered near one of the large windows, their faces flushed with excitement and curiosity. None of them belonged to particularly influential families, but their eagerness made them perfect targets. Ambitious and eager to climb the social ladder, they would seize any opportunity to curry favor with the more powerful houses.

  Thorne slipped into their midst with practiced ease, his presence drawing curious glances. He greeted them with a warm smile, engaging them in light conversation before steering the topic toward Alaric Ravencourt and Kellan Thornfield.

  “You know,” he said, his tone conspiratorial as he leaned in slightly, “I heard Kellan was talking about Alaric earlier. Said something about how he’s nothing more than a ‘brash child playing at war.’”

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  The group exchanged glances, their eyes widening as the rumor took hold. Thorne could almost see the wheels turning in their heads, each of them calculating the potential benefits of spreading this information.

  “Really?” one of them whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “He actually said that?”

  Thorne shrugged, his expression deliberately nonchalant. “That’s just what I heard. But you know how these things go. People love to talk.”

  They nodded, murmuring among themselves, the seed planted and already beginning to grow, his skill Echoes of Truth making it all sound real. Thorne excused himself with a polite smile, feeling the tension in the room shift as the rumor began to circulate. The carefully laid threads of his plan beginning to tighten around Alaric Ravencourt.

  As he scanned the room for his next target, he was suddenly intercepted by a familiar figure. Selene Ravencourt appeared before him, her eyes bright and inquisitive, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

  “Lord Silverbane!” she greeted, her voice light and playful, completely unaffected by the undercurrent of tension in the party. She seemed blissfully unaware of the invisible lines that had been drawn between the factions. Thorne blinked, momentarily taken aback by the ease with which she moved through the gathering, her presence like a burst of sunshine cutting through the dark clouds of the room.

  She really was unlike any girl he had met. Her beauty was effortless, natural, without the excessive polish of the Valewind socialites like Seraphina Valmont, who always seemed to radiate perfection. But neither did she resemble the hardened, wary recruits he had grown up with in the guild, whose lives were etched in their eyes and every move they made. Rielle’s face flashed briefly in his mind, her fierce gaze and unyielding stance, but he pushed the thought away, focusing on the young woman in front of him.

  Selene waved her hand in front of his eyes, her smile widening as she tried to gain his attention. “Lord Silverbane? Are you with me?”

  Thorne blinked again, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a genuine smile. “My apologies, Lady Selene,” he said smoothly. “I must admit I was momentarily... mesmerized by your beauty.”

  Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable, her confident demeanor faltering as she stuttered, “Oh! I—thank you, my lord. That’s... very kind of you to say.”

  Thorne watched her with quiet amusement, enjoying the sight of her caught off guard. It was a rare sight to see a noblewoman like her so disarmed by a simple compliment. She managed to regain her composure quickly, though, and she cleared her throat, her eyes meeting his once more.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she said, a note of genuine pleasure in her voice. “I hope this party is more to your liking than the last one. I know how grand the gatherings in Valewind can be, and I wanted to create something that would feel... familiar to you.”

  Thorne’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “You organized this?”

  She nodded, her expression turning conspiratorial as she leaned closer. “I may have convinced Lady Elena to host the party. She’s a close family friend, you see. I even helped with the decorations.” She glanced around, her gaze lingering on the banners and garlands that adorned the hall. “It’s not quite like Valewind, but I thought I could add a bit of that charm here.”

  There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she looked down, the confident noblewoman giving way to a young girl seeking approval. Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, an older gentleman approached, his voice booming as he struck up a conversation with Selene, praising her father and his leadership.

  Thorne took a step back, his expression impassive as he watched Selene handle the conversation with grace, filing away the information about her father for later use. She nodded and smiled politely, but Thorne could see the flicker of irritation in her eyes, the subtle tightening of her jaw as the conversation dragged on.

  Eventually, she managed to end the conversation with a tactful comment and turned back to Thorne with a radiant smile, as if the interruption had never happened. “So, Lord Silverbane, what do you think of the decorations?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

  Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but once again, he was interrupted, this time by another man who seemed intent on monopolizing Selene’s attention. Thorne clenched his jaw, irritation flickering through him as he watched the man talk animatedly about some business venture, completely oblivious to the fact that Selene’s attention was elsewhere.

  He waited patiently, his eyes never leaving Selene’s face as she nodded along, her smile growing strained. Finally, she managed to excuse herself, turning back to Thorne with an exasperated huff.

  “They just won’t let us speak in peace,” she muttered, her frustration palpable. Before Thorne could respond, she grabbed his hand, her touch sending a jolt of surprise through him. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” Thorne asked, his eyes darting around the room as she led him through the crowd, weaving expertly between the clusters of nobles.

  “Somewhere quiet,” she replied over her shoulder, her grip firm and insistent.

  Thorne hesitated, his mind racing. He had a mission. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now, when everything was in motion. And yet, despite himself, he found his resolve wavering, his feet moving of their own accord as he allowed her to lead him away from the bustling hall.

  They slipped through a side door, the noise of the party fading behind them as they made their way down a dimly lit corridor. Selene pushed open another door, revealing a small, enclosed garden. It was intimate, almost secretive, the soft glow of a few carefully placed lanterns casting a warm, gentle light over the space. The air was cool, a light breeze rustling the leaves of the neatly trimmed bushes and trees.

  Thorne glanced around, taking in the serene beauty of the garden. It was a stark contrast to the lavish, crowded hall they had just left, and he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of calm settle over him. The shadows danced around them, the moonlight filtering through the leaves, casting soft, dappled patterns on the stone path.

  Selene released his hand, turning to face him with a shy smile. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I found this place a few years ago. Hardly anyone comes here.”

  Thorne nodded, his eyes lingering on her face, the way the soft light illuminated her features, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. For a moment, he forgot about the party, the rumors he had spread, the plan that was set in motion. For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing in the quiet, moonlit garden, the rest of the world fading away.

  “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and genuine. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the garden or the girl standing before him, her eyes reflecting the soft light of the lanterns, her expression open and unguarded.

  They stood there in silence and for the first time in a long while, Thorne felt a sense of peace. But it was fleeting, a fragile thing that he knew would shatter the moment they stepped back into the reality of the party, the reality of their lives.

  Selene looked down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “For saving me from all those stuffy conversations back there. It was starting to get unbearable.”

  Thorne chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I should be thanking you,” he replied, his lips quirking into a small smile. “You’ve given me a much-needed reprieve.”

  She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face, as if trying to read the thoughts hidden behind his carefully constructed mask. Thorne felt his heart stutter in his chest, the intensity of her gaze making it hard to breathe. He had been around beautiful women before, had charmed them, deceived them, but this was different. Selene was different.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not like the other nobles?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Thorne’s smile faltered for a brief moment, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He took a step back, the mask slipping back into place, hiding the turmoil that churned within him.

  “Perhaps because I’m not,” he said lightly, his tone carefully neutral. “But then again, neither are you.”

  She blinked, surprise flickering in her eyes. Then she smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made something in Thorne’s chest tighten painfully. “I suppose you’re right,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of unspoken truths.

  They stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between them, comfortable and yet charged with something unspoken, something fragile and dangerous.

  But then, as always, reality intruded, the distant sound of laughter and conversation drifting into the garden, reminding them of the world that awaited them beyond the sanctuary of the garden walls.

  “We should go back,” Selene said reluctantly, her eyes lingering on his face, as if she was memorizing every detail.

  “Yes,” Thorne agreed, though his heart ached at the thought of stepping back into the chaos of the party. But he had a mission, a plan to execute, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

  They made their way back to the hall in silence, their steps slow and measured, as if they were savoring the last few moments of peace before they returned to the storm that awaited them.

  Selene paused at the door, her hand lingering on the handle as she turned to look at Thorne, her eyes searching his face. “We should enter separately,” she suggested softly, her voice tinged with a trace of regret. “It wouldn’t do for us to draw too much attention.”

  Thorne nodded, his expression neutral. “Of course. I’ll wait here for a moment.”

  She gave him a small, strained smile, her eyes lingering on his face for a heartbeat longer before she turned and stepped back into the hall. Thorne watched her go, the elegant sway of her dress and the way she seemed to light up the room as she rejoined the throng of nobles. She was a puzzle, one that he couldn’t quite figure out yet, and as much as he tried to push her from his mind, she lingered, like a shadow that wouldn’t fade.

  He stayed where he was, leaning against the cool stone wall, his thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The garden had felt like a dream, a moment of peace that had no place in the world of deceit and violence he had grown up in. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, couldn’t let himself be pulled into whatever it was that lingered between them. There were more pressing matters at hand.

  Thorne’s ears perked up as he picked up the faint sound of hushed voices, the tone sharp and angry. His instincts flared, the years of training taking over as he activated his Veil of Light and Shadow, his form melting into the darkness as he blended seamlessly with the shadows. He moved silently down the dimly lit corridor, the voices growing clearer with each step.

  At the end of the corridor, just a few steps away from the main hall, he saw them. Lord Thornfield and his wife, her back pressed against the cold stone wall, her face pale and terrified. His face was flushed, eyes unfocused and wild, a dangerous glint in them as he loomed over her, his large frame casting a menacing shadow in the flickering light.

  Thorne remained hidden, his breath barely more than a whisper as he watched the scene unfold before him. He knew he should look away, should leave them to their private misery, but something kept him rooted to the spot, a sense of foreboding curling in his gut.

  “You little slut!” Lord Thornfield hissed, his voice low and venomous. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the arm and slamming her against the wall with a jarring force that made Thorne’s breath hitch. Lady Thornfield gasped, her eyes wide with fear, but she didn’t cry out. “Did you think I didn’t see you slipping away with that man again? Did you open your legs for him again?”

  The slap came without warning, the sound echoing through the empty corridor like a thunderclap. Lady Thornfield stumbled, her head snapping to the side, but Lord Thornfield didn’t let her fall. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the hair, pulling her back up with brutal force, his fingers digging into her scalp.

  “I swear to the dead gods, I will kill you!” he snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “I will kill you, your lover, and your bastard son of yours! I will kill everyone you love!”

  Thorne’s eyes widened as the words sank in, his heart hammering in his chest. Bastard son. His mind raced, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Kellan Thornfield, the shy, awkward young man who looked nothing like his father, who flinched at the slightest sign of violence. The son Lord Thornfield despised, the one he had dismissed as a weakling, unworthy of the Thornfield name. He wasn’t just a disappointment. He wasn’t even his son.

  Lady Thornfield began to sob, the sound raw and desperate as she clutched at her husband’s arm, her nails digging into his flesh as she begged. “Please, Hadrian, please,” she cried, her voice breaking. “He’s just a boy. He’s innocent. Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt him. Please.”

  But Thorne wasn’t listening anymore, his mind focused on one thing, one cold, hard truth that sent a shiver down his spine. Kellan Thornfield was a bastard.

  Damn it. This changed everything.

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