Chapter 165 What Kael Wanted
Chapter 165 What Kael Wanted
Seraphine POV
The man by the palace wall vanished without a trace. That alone got under my skin. Guards scoured the grounds for three days. They grilled merchants. They stopped travelers. Every gate in and out of Crimson territory, they checked them all. Still nothing. No one knew his name. No one could explain it. He just appeared, then disappeared, like he never existed.
The longer he remained a mystery, the more he scared me. You can brace against enemies you recognize... Kael wanted power, those rotten nobles craved influence, and the conspirators always schemed for more control. I could handle all that. But a stranger lurking in the shadows? That could be about anything. That’s what kept me up at night. Agora too, honestly.
The morning after the sighting, I half expected him to be next to me when I woke up. Instead, just a scrap of paper: Training yard. Immediately.
I stared at it. What kind of training? I yawned, tried to guess, but curiosity got the better of me. I got dressed and slipped out. The air was crisp, and the grass was still wet with dew. Hardly anyone was awake. The sun wasn't even all the way up. The training yard, though, was alive. Warriors sparred. Blades rang out. Orders bounced off the stone.
And right in the middle stood Agora. Waiting, of course.
“Good morning?” I tried.
He glanced up, unimpressed. “You’re late.”
I blinked at him. “I just got up.”
He just nodded. Like that proved his point.
We stared at each other. I folded my arms. “No.”
One eyebrow creeped up on his face. “No?”
“I’m not fighting anyone today.”
He stayed perfectly serious. “Didn’t ask you to.”
Relief. Quick and sharp. Then gone, replaced with suspicion. “So why am I here?”
He pointed to a bench. “Sit.”
That sounded like trouble. But I sat. Instantly, he plopped a fat stack of papers into my lap.
I looked at him. Then the papers. Then him. “What’s this?”
“Your lesson.”
I blinked again. “My what?”
“Your lesson.” He didn’t budge.
My eyes twitched. “I liked the fighting better.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
I picked up the first page. Maps, names, alliances, trade routes... it already made my head ache.
“No.”
Agora crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
I groaned. He didn’t even flinch. Figures.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked.
His expression softened just a bit. “Learn. Politics.”
I wanted to chuck the papers at him. “Agora.”
“Seraphine.”
“I hate politics.”
“I know.”
“Why teach me, then?”
And then cold certainty in his voice... “Because someone’s hunting you.”
That shut me up. Fast.
No jokes. No lightness. Just Agora’s eyes, sharp and protective and deadly serious.
“Someone watched the palace,” he said. “Someone might already know who you are.”
The silence was sharp as glass between us.
He crouched down, looked me in the eye. “Knowledge keeps people alive.”
I swallowed hard. He was right. I hated that. Hated it so much.
But I sighed. “Fine.”
He looked smug and entirely too pleased with himself.
The lesson started right away, and it was pure misery. Pages and pages... names, houses, alliances. All of it tangled like a knotted piece of string. I was sure my brain would crack in half. Agora never lost patience, not even once. He broke things down: how noble houses operated, how alliances shifted, how power moved around. At first, it just blurred together.
But he wouldn’t let me give up. Slowly, painfully, really... some of it started to click.
And then, it stopped being abstract. These weren’t just names. They were the people who destroyed my mother. The ones backing Kael. The ones twisting entire packs to their will. Suddenly, I wanted to know. Not for a throne, not for power. I needed it to survive. To understand. For me.
That surprised me. Surprised Agora too, probably. By midday, he didn’t look at me as a clueless student. His eyes said I was something else, someone who got it. We kept going.
He tapped a map. “If you controlled this trade route, what would change?”
I studied it, pointed out a spot. “The neighbors lose leverage. They depend on that supply line.”
His eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “Why?”
I gestured again. “That route’s their lifeline.”
He nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”
That praise, I’ll admit it made something warm bloom in my chest. I looked away so he wouldn’t see.
He definitely noticed. Smirked. Annoying, smug man.
The afternoon was even harder. Strategy now like some massive game of chess, but with real lives on the line. Agora set out wooden pieces across the board: warriors, rulers, resources, territory. He kept asking, “What would you do?”
I got it wrong. A lot. He said so, blunt as ever. I called him insufferable, which only encouraged him.
But around the fifth time, the logic started to take shape. Patterns emerged. Weaknesses, advantages. The chaos of it began to feel manageable. Not all at once, but enough to matter.
Later, Agora leaned back and watched me rearrange the board. He looked thoughtful.
“What?”
He took his time. “You’re learning quickly.”
I laughed. “No, I’m not.”
He didn’t hesitate. “You are.”
“No.”
“You are.”
I rolled my eyes. He smiled. Actually smiled. It threw me off, because months ago, I couldn’t even picture him making that face. The man beside me now wasn’t really the same cold Alpha who’d used to terrify me. Well, not completely. That part of him was still there, buried under the surface, all sharp and dangerous. But now, there was something else too. Something softer. Something just for us.
That realization squeezed my chest in a way I didn’t see coming.
Later that night, we moved the lesson outside. The gardens were quiet, the air cool, the sky streaked with orange and gold. For once, everything felt calm. Peaceful. Beautiful.
Agora walked beside me, hands behind his back, so formal it made me grin. I nudged a pebble with my foot, doing my best impression of someone who completely lacked dignity.
“You’re enjoying this,” I teased.
He shot me a look. “No.”
“Liar.”
He paused, then cracked, “A little.”
I groaned, and he tried (and failed) to hide a laugh. Traitor.
We kept talking as we walked; questions, answers, little debates, ideas tossed back and forth. Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like a student. I was in it with him, arguing, analyzing, driving the conversation instead of just following along. The change was so gradual I almost missed it.
Then Agora stopped walking all of a sudden, and I turned to look at him. “What is it?”
He watched me for a long time, silence stretching out until my nerves started buzzing. Finally, he said quietly, “You’re changing.”
Just three words. But they landed heavy. Dangerous. Important.
“How?” I asked.
His look softened. “You’re starting to trust yourself.”
It hit harder than I expected, probably because I hadn’t noticed. Not really. But he was right. I thought about where I’d started: always second-guessing every move, every thought, every decision, waiting for someone else to tell me what to do, someone stronger, smarter, better.
Now? Now I questioned them right back.
That realization startled me. Agora noticed. I saw a strange sort of pride flash across his face, not controlling, not possessive, just… proud. It made my heart hurt, but in a good way.
We drifted back into silence, winding through the gardens. I caught snippets of life at the edges, servants bustling along the paths, guards strolling the outer walls, nobles crossing bright courtyards. Normalcy. I let my gaze wander until I saw my own reflection in the fountain’s glassy surface.
I barely recognized the woman looking back at me, and no, it wasn’t about appearances. She looked stronger somehow, but it came from somewhere deeper. I remembered that servant girl who’d stumbled through these halls, terrified, convinced she was nothing, certain that everyone else had the answers. The girl who apologized for existing. The girl who expected cruelty. The one who tried to be invisible because it felt safer.
She wasn’t gone. She’d just… changed. Grown into someone else.
The truth landed quiet, but huge. I wasn’t that servant anymore. Not the abandoned child. Not the mystery to untangle. I was Seraphine. And for the first time ever, that felt like enough.
Agora noticed I was quiet. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
I looked at my reflection one last time, then turned back to him. There was a hint of a smile on my lips. For once, the answer felt easy.
“The person I used to be would never believe any of this,” I said.
He smiled too, sunlight painting his face in gold and warmth. It almost hurt to look at him, felt a little too much like hope.
I glanced away before he caught me staring, but the smile stayed. Because all the important stuff was finally clear: I didn’t want a throne. I didn’t care about power. I still had no clue what tomorrow might bring.
But I wasn't afraid of myself anymore.
And honestly, that felt like the real beginning.