Lugh's gaze drifted toward Aveline. She returned it steadily, not a single flinch or twitch in her posture.
Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile that unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
She carried herself with a calm confidence he hadn't noticed before—not arrogance, not flamboyance, but something cold, collected, and deeply rooted.
A kind of assurance that she knew she was dangerous. That she didn't need to prove it.
He'd brought her here for a reason. The question had been on his mind since they'd boarded the carriage. Manipulation. Influence. Control.
He needed to learn. Not just battlefield tactics or swordplay—he needed to understand people, how to move them like pieces on a board. That was the real game. And Aveline, young as she was, had shown herself an uncanny player.
That ballroom scene still echoed in his mind. But if Lugh truly wanted mastery in such things, there was another candidate. A more terrifying one.
Selaphiel.
