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## **Chapter 9: The Cardinal's Mask**
The Royal Cathedral of Everen rose like a mountain of sanctity—white stone carved with angels and demons, where sunlight filtered through stained glass to disguise judgment as beauty. Inside, incense curled like smoke from a funeral pyre, and every step echoed as if heard by gods and traitors alike.
It was here that High Cardinal Alaric Thorne knelt in solitary prayer, his crimson robes whispering across the cold floor, his golden staff leaned gently against the altar.
But he was not alone.
Not truly.
"Such devotion," Seraphina murmured from behind, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet. "Or is this performance for the ears of the divine?"
Alaric did not flinch. He rose smoothly, like a serpent uncurling in the sun.
"Lady Seraphina," he said, turning. "Your presence sanctifies the cathedral. Or desecrates it, depending on which cleric you ask."
She smiled. "Sanctity is so often mistaken for silence. But I'm afraid I bring noise."
He regarded her carefully. No priest's humility lived in his eyes—only calculation. "Then speak, and be judged."
Seraphina moved to the center of the aisle, the echo of her heels loud in the hallowed space. "My mother wrote poetry. Did you know?"
"She was a woman of many talents."
"She wrote about rot beneath roses. About blades hidden in psalms. It took me years to realize she was speaking of you."
Alaric's fingers twitched once—barely noticeable.
"You speak boldly."
"I'm dying," she replied simply. "Boldness is all I have left."
There was a beat of silence between them. Then the Cardinal tilted his head.
"What do you want?"
She smiled thinly. "Your mask."
---
That same day, across the capital, the threads of Seraphina's schemes spread like wildfire—quietly, efficiently.
Felix delivered the forged letters to the Queen Mother's chamberlain under the guise of diplomatic concern. Two of her spies—one cloaked as a nun, the other a merchant's niece—began sowing rumors that the church's coffers had funded illegal auctions in the East.
And in the undercity, beneath the cathedral's western wing, a former clerk named Iven—once dismissed by the Cardinal for "irreverence"—opened an old confession book, its pages marked with the ink of sin and the blood of truth.
"Iven," Seraphina had said days prior, "do you want to write a new gospel?"
The man had laughed until he cried.
---
But not all her wars were fought with paper and whispers.
At dusk, Seraphina returned to Alvere Manor and found herself drawn to the garden—a rare moment of peace.
She wandered between the hedges, past the wilting lilies and defiant marigolds, until she reached the southern pergola where someone unexpected waited.
He wore a sword, not a robe. Boots, not polished shoes. His hair was a tousled sun-brown, and his jacket bore the royal crest beneath a layer of dust.
**Lord Adrien Valcorne.**
Once her childhood friend. Now the crown's wandering hound.
"Seraphina," he greeted, brushing dirt from his cuffs. "Still alive, I see."
"You say that like you're surprised."
"I am. Rumor said you poisoned your last suitor with a kiss."
She raised a brow. "He tried to kiss me during a proposal. That was a *punishment*, not a murder."
He chuckled—a warm sound, unpolished, too real for court. "You haven't changed."
She looked away, heart pricked. "Neither have you. Still chasing ghosts in the name of justice?"
"I hear you've become one," he said, more gently. "A ghost of the court. A name people fear. And mourn."
Something tightened in her chest. She didn't want it to, but it did.
"Why are you here, Adrien?"
"Because your name showed up on a list of potential rebels." He handed her a scroll. "But I came to burn this. Not read it."
She took it. Didn't open it. Just watched him.
"I don't want to bury you, Sera."
She smiled sadly. "Then don't look behind you when I fall."
He stepped closer, until the space between them was just a breath.
"Let me help you," he said.
And for a terrifying moment, she wanted to say yes.
But she had only a year. He had a future.
She stepped back.
"Stay safe, Adrien."
He stared at her like he wanted to say something else. But in the end, he just bowed—and left.
---
That night, Seraphina stood before her mirror.
Beneath her touch, the cursed history book opened once more. The Cardinal's page had changed again.
> *"The High Cardinal's sermons fell under royal investigation. Witnesses emerged. A lady in black was said to be behind the undoing of one of the kingdom's greatest powers."*
But now, there was a new entry.
> *"Lord Adrien Valcorne returned to the capital at the start of the Crimson Year. His involvement with the Duchess of Alvere became the subject of both legend and speculation."*
Her fingers trembled.
**Legend.**
She didn't know if it was a warning or a promise.
But for the first time since she found the book, a line had been added... in ink still wet.
And it wasn't hers.
> *"The villainess fell in love. And for the first time, fate hesitated."*
Seraphina stared at the words.
Then she laughed—quiet and shaken.
"Well," she whispered, "that's not in the script."
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**End of Chapter 9**