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He turned a page and said mildly, "' Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.'"

Hagan stopped mid-pace. "You think I'm fighting her?"

Veyr lifted one brow. "You're besieging her emotions. And trying to be subtle. Which is... new for you."

Hagan grunted and dropped his weight into the chair across from him. "There is a learning curve, all right. And I am at rock bottom."

Veyr didn't even look up this time. He sipped his herbal tea and said dryly, "Perseverance builds character, Alphason. Or so the elders claim. Personally, I think it mostly builds ulcers."

He finally glanced over the rim of his cup, eyes glinting.

"But I suppose it might also win back a mate if you don't screw it up again."

The sound of laughter drifted faintly across the courtyard.

Moth to the flame, Hagan's head turned towards the open balcony doors.

Seren stood on her balcony. And she was wearingthatdress. The one she had shopped for while he followed her, as subtle as a toddler playing hide-and-seek behind a curtain—feet showing, giggling, and yelling"Youcan't seeme."

It draped over her like a whisper of temptation, all rich colour and fluttering fabric. Thin straps exposed her shoulders, her back, and a line of thigh where the hem dipped in a fluttery slit. Her lips were painted the colour of ripe cherries. Her hair was mostly loose, tumbling down her back—except for a few strands caught in a lazy, lopsided braid that made him feel things he had no business feeling. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She looked like a fever dream wrapped in moonlight.

And none of it—not the lips, not the braid, not the dress clinging to her curves—was for him.

Two days ago, The Hollow Moon

He'd been nursing a beer, minding his own business—which was to say, minding Seren's business—when the door opened with a chime.

Riven.

Tall, golden-skinned, and exuding polished charm and tailored arrogance. The man looked like he'd never done a day of hard work in his life unless you counted deciding between cufflinks.

His sharp warlock eyes scanned the room, bypassing Ana's exaggerated wink, Mira's welcoming smile, and Ryn's signature death glare as though none of them existed.

They landed on Seren.

And softened.

"Seren," he said with a smile, "you always manage to look like the muse of some tortured artist. Do you do it on purpose, or is it just—natural?"

Seren blinked, a little flustered. "I—uh—what?"

"Never mind." He leaned on the counter, gaze playful. "I brought you something." He pulled a small, velvet box from his coat pocket. "No strings. I just saw it and thought of you."

Seren eyed it, pretending not to understand. She could feel Hagan's glare boring into the back of her head. "You thought of me when you saw abox? That's not comforting."

The clink of glass as Hagan set down his beer was too loud. Mira looked up briefly from the counter.

Seemingly oblivious to anyone but Seren, Riven leaned in with a shy, crooked smile that—if Hagan was being honest—made him want to break something.

"I know this is forward," Riven murmured, "but I saw it and thought of you."

Seren blinked at it. "You didn't have to—"

"Humour me."

Her fingers hesitated, then flipped it open with a soft click.