Chapter 169 He ruined it

Chapter 169 He ruined it
Seraphine POV

Funny thing about solving a political crisis: once you pull it off, everyone assumes you’re some miracle worker. I found that out the hard way.

So, three days after that council disaster, I headed into the strategy chamber expecting my usual gig... sit down, keep my head down, don’t embarrass myself, and try to stay awake through endless debates on trade routes and grain shortages.

But as soon as I stepped inside, a bunch of advisers looked right at me. And they smiled. That should’ve been my first red flag.

The second came when one of them actually yanked out a chair for me.

The third? They asked for my opinion. Mine. I almost turned around and left on the spot.

“Lady Seraphine.”

I froze. The name still felt awkward on my skin, like clothes that didn’t belong to me.

The older adviser gave me a polite smile. “What do you think about the eastern merchant agreements?”

My thoughts? Why would anyone care what I thought? I glanced around, sure someone else was meant to answer. But nope... every set of eyes was locked on me, waiting. I hated it.

Reluctantly, I sat down, heart hammering. “I don’t know,” I blurted, the old words fitting easily. Safe. Expected.

The adviser shared a look with another council member, then said quietly, “You usually do.”

Traitor.

Apparently, fixing one mess was enough to convince everyone I could fix all of them. Across the table, Agora hid a grin. I spotted it instantly... that annoying man. I gave him my best glare. He looked so innocent he had to be guilty.

“Alpha?” I asked, sweet but dangerous.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You could help.”

His lips twitched. “No.”

I wanted to throw a chair at him. The advisers chuckled, happy for the show. Fantastic. Enemies everywhere.

The meeting dragged on for three brutal hours. But something strange happened. People didn’t just let me talk... they listened, not out of politeness or because Agora said so. They actually wanted to hear what I had to say.

That unsettled me. Really, it scared me. I’d spent my whole life with no one asking for my opinion... servants never got a say, and maidservants least of all. My voice had never mattered. Now, suddenly, it did.

It felt like stepping into someone else’s life. Half the time, I still stayed quiet just out of habit, waiting for someone to realize their mistake and send me back to where I actually belonged.

Every time, Agora noticed. He always noticed. Sometimes he’d give a quick look, barely a shrug. Just a quiet reminder: I belonged there, even when I wasn’t convinced. Especially then.

After that meeting, a whole week of them flooded my calendar... trade disputes, alliance talks, endless reports, economic headaches. The kind of stuff that used to bore me makes me want to run. Now, though, I paid attention. I learned things. I even spoke up. And, honestly? That scared me.

I had always thought rulers were distant and powerful... people who gave orders and expected the world to obey. I never saw the responsibility. Or the consequences. Or the weight. Every decision touched real people. Every mistake landed on someone’s head.

It humbled me. Terrified me. And, a little, it lit a fire in me too.

Maybe being in charge isn’t about being important. Maybe it’s about shouldering burdens you wouldn’t wish on anyone. The idea stuck with me, long after the meetings ended.

Unfortunately, Agora picked up on that too. Which, of course, meant he doubled down on being a pain.

One afternoon, buried in reports, I sensed him looking at me. I tried to ignore it, but Agora’s stubborn. Eventually, I looked up. He was behind his desk, pretending to read. Badly.

“You’re doing it again,” I said.

He went for his innocent face. “Doing what?”

“Staring.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You absolutely were.”

He leaned back, a smirk right at the edge of breaking through. “I was observing.”

I snorted. “Observing?”

“Like a scientist.”

The nerve. I threw a rolled-up report at him. He caught it without missing a beat, way too pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered.

His smile finally broke through... small, warm, and way too distracting. “That’s not what you said last week.”

And just like that, my face burned. The absolute monster. He knew it, too. Victory all over his face.

The teasing kept up. Not cruel or sharp, just... playful. It was new for us. Before, everything between us buzzed with danger, secrets, and fear. Now, there was room for something lighter. And Agora took full advantage.

One evening, he interrupted me while I was buried in supply reports. “You’re frowning,” he noted.

“So?” I shot back.

“You only make that face when you’re overthinking.”

“I do not.”

“You do.” He wouldn’t let up.

I glared. He grinned. He was insufferable. But I couldn’t help it... I liked the way he laughed. Which was, somehow, its own problem.

That night, we shared dinner alone... no council, no interruptions, no news from Wildfire. Just us. The dining room felt peaceful and gentle, shadows soft in the candlelight, the world outside shrinking away.

For once, nobody barged in. Nothing demanded our attention. And the quiet felt precious, fragile, almost too good to be real.

Temporary.

Still, it felt good. Like I belonged, if only for a second.

I was halfway through dinner when I caught Agora staring again. There it was... that look. He had been doing it more and more. Thoughtful, proud, affectionate. And, underneath it all, dangerous. Very dangerous.

I put my fork down. “What?”

He raised one eyebrow. “What?”

I pointed right at him. “That.”

He looked amused, of course. “That’s very specific.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He thought about it for a moment, then gave a small nod. Fair enough. Unfortunately.

We just sat there in silence. I waited for him outside.

Eventually, he sighed. “I was thinking.”

Great. Nothing good ever came from “I was thinking,” not with him. His ideas had a way of rearranging my entire life.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “About what?”

He answered softly. “You’ve changed.”

That hit harder than I expected. I blinked. “Changed?”

He kept looking at me, steady and calm. “You used to avoid every council meeting.”

I frowned. “They were terrifying.”

“They still are.”

“Exactly,” I muttered.

He smiled... tiny, knowing, and annoyingly attractive. “But you stay.”

I let that land. He wasn’t wrong. A few months ago I’d have run, found an excuse, done anything to avoid it all. Attention, responsibility. I’d disappear.

But now... I stayed. Even scared, even uncertain. The idea felt foreign in my own head.

“Maybe I’m just getting reckless.”

He shook his head, gentle but certain. “No.”

He said it so firmly that my chest went tight. The way he looked at me... it was too much. He believed in me so completely that it was almost hard to breathe.

Neither of us spoke. We stared at each other while the rest of the world faded out... just candlelight, him, and that soft warmth spreading in my chest.

Then Agora had to ruin it somehow.

His lips twitched. “You still frown too much.”

I shot him a look and lunged for the bread basket.

He just laughed. A real laugh, surprised and bright and warm. It cracked me open in a way I didn’t want to think about, not right then.

Later, after dinner, when the corridors quieted and shadows gathered, another sort of meeting waited... one far less peaceful.

Lady Verya arrived out of nowhere. Never a good sign.

The moment I walked into the strategy room, I knew trouble was brewing. Verya stood at the map table, face grim, reports scattered everywhere.

Agora lost the playful vibe in an instant.

“What happened?” he asked.

Verya looked up, slow and silent. The hush was enough to tie a knot in my stomach.

She finally picked up a document, eyes even darker. “We have a problem.”

My pulse jumped. “What kind of problem?”

She glanced at Agora. Not a reassuring look.

Then she finally said it. “Information is leaving this palace.”

The tension hit hard...thick, cold, dangerous.

I felt it in my gut. I already knew. A spy. Someone’s been watching, listening, sending every secret out beyond these walls.

Verya slapped down another report... names, dates, odd movements. Not proof, not enough for that, but the pieces lined up.

Her voice dropped. “Everything coming out of Wildfire says someone inside Crimson Palace is working for our enemies.”

Silence again. The heavy, awful kind.

Then Verya finished it: “We have a leak.”

And just like that, all the safety I had started to feel here vanished. Crimson no longer felt safe at all.