The Serpent Among Nobles

The towering doors of the council chamber creaked open, spilling golden light into the hall.

Every head inside turned.

Rows of noblemen sat at the long, polished table, their jeweled cloaks draped like banners of power. Whispers rose instantly, a poisonous tide that filled the room.

“The serpent herself…”

“She dares show her face here?”

“Ravencourt must have gone mad, bringing her.”

Ishani’s pulse hammered in her throat, but she straightened her shoulders. Her hand still rested lightly on Lucian’s arm. His presence was cold steel beside her, steady and intimidating.

If she faltered, if she showed weakness, they would devour her alive.

Lucian’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.

“Silence.”

The word carried such weight that the whispers died instantly. The Duke led her to the seat beside his own at the head of the table, pulling out the chair with deliberate precision.

Nobles shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. Ishani sat carefully, keeping her expression neutral. Not too haughty, not meek. Just… composed.

But their eyes stabbed into her from every side.

The meeting began, discussions of land disputes and military supplies filling the air. Ishani tried to follow, but the terms blurred—taxes, territories, harvest shortages. She bit the inside of her cheek, reminding herself: stay silent. Survive.

Then, it happened.

Lord Feran, a stout noble with rings glittering on every finger, leaned forward with a sneer. “Your Grace, it is unusual to see Lady Valente here. Last I recall, she had no patience for state affairs. Or perhaps,” his gaze slid to her mockingly, “she only comes to flaunt her jewels.”

A ripple of laughter circled the table.

Ishani’s stomach dropped. The old Seraphina would have snapped back with venom, perhaps insulted his entire bloodline. That would have played into their hands.

She forced her trembling hands beneath the table and lifted her chin. “Perhaps I once behaved foolishly, Lord Feran,” she said softly, but her voice carried. “But even serpents can learn to shed their skin.”

The chamber fell into stunned silence.

Lord Feran blinked, thrown off balance. The nobles glanced at each other, whispers rising again, uncertain this time.

Lucian turned his head slightly, silver eyes flickering toward her. Amusement? Approval? She couldn’t tell, but something in his gaze sharpened.

The meeting pressed on, but the nobles were relentless.

Lady Corvella, draped in emerald silk, tilted her head mockingly. “How touching. The infamous Lady Seraphina speaking of change. Tell me, my lady, do you also intend to change your temper? Or shall we wait for the next scandal at the ballroom?”

Her tone dripped with malice. Ishani’s nails dug into her palms under the table.

She wanted to lash out, but instead, she forced a thin smile. “Then perhaps you’ll be disappointed, Lady Corvella. For once, I hope to bore you.”

The nobles gasped softly. Some chuckled, others stiffened. Ishani could feel her heartbeat roaring in her ears, but she kept her gaze calm.

Lucian’s lips twitched—the faintest ghost of a smirk—as he leaned back in his chair.

But not all were entertained.

An older noble, Lord Berrick, slammed his hand against the table. “Enough of this charade! Duke Ravencourt, we all know what she is. A poison to your house. A stain upon our council. Are we to pretend she has suddenly become virtuous overnight?”

The room stiffened.

All eyes turned to Lucian. His silver gaze cut through the tension like ice. “Careful, Berrick.”

But before he could say more, Ishani found herself speaking, her voice trembling but firm. “You’re right, my lord. I cannot erase the past overnight. I can only prove myself with time. If you doubt me, then watch me closely. If I fail, you’ll be the first to see.”

The chamber fell silent.

The nobles stared at her, stunned. Never had Seraphina Valente spoken with humility. Never had she invited scrutiny instead of demanding worship.

Lucian’s gaze lingered on her, sharp as a blade, unreadable.

Finally, Lord Berrick scoffed, leaning back. “Hmph. We shall see how long this act lasts.”

The rest of the meeting dragged on, but the storm had already passed. Ishani sat quietly, breathing carefully, her back aching from the strain of holding herself together.

When the session ended, the nobles filed out, whispering furiously among themselves. Some threw her curious glances. Others glared with open disdain.

But none had torn her apart.

She had survived.

As the doors shut, silence settled. Only Ishani and Lucian remained.

Her hands trembled in her lap, but she didn’t move. She didn’t dare break the fragile calm.

Then, Lucian rose slowly, his boots echoing against the marble floor. He came to stand beside her chair, looking down at her with those piercing silver eyes.

“You surprise me,” he said at last.

Her breath caught. “Is… that a good thing?”

Lucian leaned down, his face close enough that his voice was a whisper meant only for her. “It makes me wonder… who are you really, wife?”

Her heart thundered. His breath brushed her ear, his presence overwhelming. She gripped the armrest to steady herself.

“I told you,” she whispered back. “I’m just trying to survive.”

His lips curved faintly, dangerously, as if her answer amused him. “Then survive well, Seraphina. Because if you falter… no one will protect you. Not even me.”

He straightened, turning toward the door.

Ishani exhaled shakily, her entire body trembling from the intensity of his closeness.

She had survived the council. But surviving Lucian Ravencourt… might be the hardest game of all.

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