Her gaze, steady and silent, met Lucavion's with the chill of polished steel. No warmth. No malice. No amusement. Just the eyes of a woman used to reading men like ledgers and moving kingdoms like chess pieces.
Not once did they flicker to his crest, or his coat, or the chamber around him.
They stayed fixed.
On him.
And yet, there was no intent behind them. No obvious aim. No anger. No curiosity.
Just the void of calculation.
'Just like Thaddeus,' Lucavion thought.
He'd seen it before—more often than he liked.
Duke Thaddeus, the old warhawk of the North. A man whose words could start conflicts before swords were drawn. His eyes were always the same: unreadable. His tone, measured. His presence, absolute.
And Madeleine.
The Duke's headmaid—at least in title. But in function? She was far more. One of the coldest strategists beneath silk hair.
Her smile never reached her eyes, and her eyes never told you what she wanted.
