CHAPTER 277: CHAPTER 277: BRANDY AND PLANS

Caelan lingered a moment longer, lips brushing the line of her jaw before he straightened, reclaiming his glass with the same easy grace as though he hadn’t just shifted the air between them. His green eyes gleamed, softened by firelight but sharpened by thought.

"So," he said, swirling the last sip of brandy, his tone almost conversational, almost lazy, except for the razor hidden under it. "How do you plan to lure them?"

Serathine’s amber gaze flicked back to the dispatch, fingers tapping once against its edge before she looked up at him again. "Ophelia is simple. She’s young, vain, and convinced her mother’s sins don’t touch her."

Serathine leaned back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other, the gleam of firelight turning her hair into molten copper. "She believes she can waltz into her brother’s life and thaw whatever ice she imagines sits in his heart. All I need to do is let her believe it."

Caelan’s brow arched, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth as he lifted the glass. "And Odin?" His voice was soft, almost indulgent, though the weight of it made the air heavier. "He won’t fall for a vain girl’s theatrics. He’s already slipped through our fingers once."

Her smile sharpened, the kind that cut without drawing blood. "Which is why I won’t use her alone. He won’t come for Ophelia. But he will come for Lucas."

He stilled, green eyes narrowing with interest. "Lucas himself?"

"The illusion of him." Serathine tapped the dispatch with a single garnet nail, the sound crisp and deliberate, like steel striking glass. "The double we used at Misty’s trial. Enough resemblance to ignite obsession, enough fragility to make Odin reckless. He’ll think he’s grasping the real thing, desperate to cage what he already lost once."

"And what does Trevor think of this particular game?" Caelan asked, swirling the last of his brandy, his green gaze steady on her.

"He is on board." Her voice held no hesitation. "There are few enemies of Lucas left standing: Ophelia, Odin, Christian, and Benedict. Trevor already has his eyes set on Benedict. He means to remove him before the man even realizes he’s marked."

Caelan’s mouth curved faintly as he rose, the easy movement carrying the weight of a predator in no hurry. He lifted the decanter, its amber contents catching firelight, and poured a new glass. "Dax already cleaned most of the Sahan church, blood and all. Left their altars wet and their hymns gutted."

Serathine’s lips curved, satisfaction flickering across her amber eyes. "So I heard."

He replaced the stopper, rolling the glass once in his hand before glancing back at her.

"And you? Do you plan to do something about the Church here?" Serathine asked, her tone filled with challenge.

Caelan took a slow sip, the liquid catching at the corner of his mouth before he spoke. "No," he said simply, his voice rich with the indolence of a man too practiced at power to be pressed. "The Church here doesn’t need my hand to fall. Their own rot will hollow them out. All I have to do is watch."

Serathine’s laugh was soft, low, and far from amused. "You always did prefer to watch from a gilded balcony while others burned the kindling." Her amber gaze narrowed, bright as the embers in the hearth. "But fire left to spread unchecked consumes more than its makers."

He tipped his head, the streaks of white at his temples catching the glow, his green eyes fixed on her with measured ease. "And you always did prefer to set it yourself. Tell me, Serathine, do you ever tire of slipping daggers between ribs?"

Her lips curved in an innocent smile. "No. And you never tire of handing them to me dressed as gifts."

His sardonic smile deepened, sharp and careless. "Because you never miss where to strike."

For a heartbeat, the fire roared louder, filling the silence between them. Serathine’s nails clicked once against the edge of the tablet before she leaned back, voice cool but edged with warmth only he ever coaxed from her. "If I fail," she murmured, her gaze catching his, steady and unflinching, "I’ll run to you. You can get it right in my place."

Caelan’s laugh broke the tension, low and rich, carrying smoke and brandy with it. He crossed back toward her, glass in hand, his shadow stretching across her desk like a claim. "Careful, Serathine. One of these days, you’ll make me believe you mean it."

"And if I did?" she teased, the corner of her mouth curving.

He bent, brushing his lips against her temple once more, softer than the words that followed. "Then I’d burn the whole Church down myself, just to see you smile."

"Mhmm..." Serathine hummed, pleased and tempting. "Then let me run to you now."

Caelan groaned, the sound low in his chest, though his green eyes glittered with amusement. "You always put me to work when I visit you, and not the kind I enjoy."

"Lazy," Serathine chided, though her voice was indulgent, her smile curving like silk drawn across a blade.

He tipped his glass toward her in mock surrender, the firelight gilding the white streaks at his temples. "Fine, fine. I’ll rip the Church apart. It shouldn’t be hard; the Capital’s Temple is mine already. They bow their heads, kiss my rings, and call it worship. All I need to do is tug the leash."

Serathine leaned forward, her garnet nails drumming once against the desk, her amber eyes burning hotter now, sharper. "Good. Then leash them tighter until they choke. If Odin dares reach for Lucas through holy hands, I want him to find only ruin."

Caelan’s smile spread slowly, dangerously, as he lifted the glass to his lips. "You’re insatiable."

"And you already planned for the Church to fall," she answered, her voice a low flame, more statement than question.

He chuckled, the sound dark with satisfaction. "Of course I did. Temples are only useful while they kneel. The moment they believe themselves kings, they’re rubble waiting to be swept." His gaze narrowed, green eyes catching like glass under fire. "But this time, they touched something that was mine. My blood." The words hung, heavy and final. "Lucas."

The brandy rolled lazily in his glass, but the softness in his voice was an illusion, hiding steel beneath. "I would have let them rot, content to watch them devour each other in their hypocrisy. But to reach for him? To try to bind him through their filth?" His smile sharpened, a predator’s curve. "Now they’ve signed their own death warrant."

Serathine’s lips curved, sharp and slow, amber eyes glinting with heat. "So you’ll let them rot from the inside, and I’ll give Odin a false prize to sink his teeth into. He’ll come snarling at shadows while the ground caves beneath him."

"Exactly." Caelan set the glass aside and leaned closer, his shadow stretching across her desk like a claim. "And if by some miracle he survives both?"

Her smile deepened, the gleam in her gaze molten. "Then I’ll run to you, Emperor. You can finish what I started."

Caelan groaned, low and indulgent, though his hand brushed over hers in silent agreement. "You’ll be the death of me, Serathine."

"Only the kind you enjoy," she replied, her laughter curling in the air like smoke.