The vibration startled me awake.
For a moment, in the velvet hush of my bedroom, I thought I had imagined it—the sharp buzz against marble silence. My phone, glowing faintly on the nightstand, hummed again.
No one called me at this hour. No one dared.
I reached for it, eyes half-closed, and froze when the name lit the screen.
Sebastian Blackwell.
How the hell did he have my number?
"Valmont," I answered, crisp even in sleep.
A low chuckle, warm and lazy, curled down the line. "That's how you answer your subjects, Queen? I expected at least a 'good morning.'"
"It's barely dawn." I swung my legs off the bed, annoyed at the thrum of energy his voice stirred in me. "Explain yourself."
"I'm outside."
I blinked. "Outside, where?"
"Your palace, obviously. Get dressed. I'm taking you somewhere."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His tone softened, but only slightly. "Come on, Sera. You like answers, don't you? I've got one."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, half of me ready to march downstairs and throw his arrogance back in his face. But the other half—the quieter, more dangerous part—was already moving toward the wardrobe.
The gates were ghostly in the mist when I stepped outside.
Sebastian's car idled there, low and sleek, its engine a quiet growl. He wasn't leaning against it like I expected. Instead, he opened the passenger door the moment he saw me, a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a heavy coat draped over his arm.
"You're out of your mind," I muttered.
"Probably." He held out the coffee first, then the coat. "Drink this. Wear this."
"I don't need—"
"You're freezing." He looked at me, not with his usual mocking grin but with something steadier, heavier. "Humor me, Sera."
I took both, because refusing would feel childish. The coat was thick wool, far too big for me. The moment I pulled it on, the faint warmth and the scent—cedar and smoke, something darker underneath—wrapped around me like an embrace I didn't ask for.
"You came prepared," I said, settling into the seat.
"You're not that unpredictable." His smirk returned, but softer. "Besides, I wasn't going to let you freeze at five in the morning. I'm reckless, not cruel."
I sipped the coffee, hiding my mouth against the rim. "How did you even get my new number?"
"Trade secret."
"Sebastian."
He laughed, low and infuriating. "Fine. I bribed one of your assistants."
My brows shot up. "You bribed—"
"Relax. She swore loyalty to House Valmont even as she slid me the sticky note. Apparently, I'm very persuasive."
"You're impossible."
"And yet," he drawled, glancing sideways at me, "you answered."
I turned my face toward the window, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me.
He drove us past the glittering heart of the city, through narrower streets where marble gave way to brick, until we stopped outside an old townhouse with ivy strangling its walls.
Inside, the place was stripped bare. Just a desk, a lamp, and a stack of papers scattered like contraband.
Sebastian set a leather notebook in front of me and flipped it open.
The crest stared up at me.
The same one I had seen at the gala, carved into the mirror frame. The twelfth dynasty's mark.
"You've been sketching it," I said softly.
"Not just sketching." He flipped pages. Copies of ledgers, fragments of maps, scraps of symbols traced in his restless hand. "I've been digging. Since I came back."
I looked at him, really looked. "Why show me?"
For once, his grin was gone. His voice was low, almost careful. "Because you saw it too. Because you're smart enough not to dismiss it. And because…"
"Because?" I pressed.
His gaze held mine, unflinching. "Because I can't ignore it. Every time I see the crest, it feels… familiar. Like a thread tied around my throat, tugging me somewhere I don't want to look. My uncle says it's nothing. My family insists it's nothing. Which is exactly why I know it's everything."
I swallowed. "You think the Blackwells are hiding something."
"I know they are." His jaw tightened. Then, softer, "Same as the Valmonts."
The truth in his tone chilled me.
He hesitated, then reached out, gently taking my wrist. His thumb brushed just above the bandage I had wrapped clumsily the night before. "You're still bleeding?"
"It's nothing," I said quickly.
He shot me a look sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't lie. You stitched everyone else's kingdom into neat perfection, but you don't even take care of yourself."
Before I could retort, he was already pulling a small kit from his desk drawer—antiseptic, fresh gauze, as if he had been expecting this.
"Sit," he ordered. "Let me clean it."
"Sebastian—"
"Sera." His voice was softer than I had ever heard it, but threaded with steel. "Let me."
I sat.
The moment he touched me, the air shifted. His fingers were surprisingly gentle, the pads of them warm as he unwound the soiled bandage. My pulse betrayed me, jumping against his hand when he dabbed at the cut.
"Hold still," he murmured, leaning close enough that I caught the faint trace of smoke and cedar on his skin.
"I am still," I whispered back, though the tremor in my voice made it a lie.
His eyes flicked up, amused, before dropping again to his work. "You're terrible at letting people help you."
"Maybe I don't need help."
"Or maybe you don't know what it feels like."
He tied off the fresh bandage, but instead of pulling away, his hand lingered. His thumb traced the inside of my wrist, slow, as though memorizing the shape of me.
I should have yanked my hand back. I should have reminded him of the walls between us.
Instead, I let the silence stretch, thick and dangerous, until it felt like the only thing tethering me to the room was his touch.
Finally, he let go—but not before his knuckles brushed mine, deliberate, like a secret he wasn't ready to speak.
I traced the crest on the page, my fingertip lingering on its sharp lines.
"I've found pieces, too," I said finally. "A ledger page. The name D'Arclay was ripped clean out. And I overheard my father speaking with Hector Blackwell. They mentioned something called the trial of blood."
His jaw clenched at his uncle's name. "Figures. He always did like burying bodies, metaphorical or otherwise."
I shut the notebook slowly, meeting his eyes. "If we're both circling the same secret, then maybe…"
"Maybe we stop pretending we're enemies for five minutes?" he finished.
The air between us thickened. For a dangerous heartbeat, it felt like a treaty—not of peace, but of survival.
I straightened, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my dress. "This doesn't make us allies, Sebastian."
He smirked, but softer than usual. "No. Just two predators hunting the same prey."
I should have hated the comparison. But the truth? It fit.
As we left the townhouse, dawn breaking faintly over the city, I realized something I didn't want to admit.
For the first time, I wasn't just protecting my dynasty.
I was protecting the secret we now shared.