Maya crossed to her and pulled her into a hug. "You’re going to be amazing. You’re always amazing when you’re scared and pretending not to be."
Despite everything, Eve smiled against her friend’s shoulder. "I’m absolutely terrified."
"I know," Maya said. "But you’re going anyway. That’s what makes it brave."
They held each other for a mont, and Eve felt grounded by the familiar warmth of old friendship....the reminder that she was still herself, still Eve, regardless of supernatural politics and Court factions.
"We’re planning Aunt’s funeral," Maya said when they pulled apart. "Elena and . While you’re at the eting. We’ll coordinate with the funeral ho, arrange the service, handle all the details so you don’t have to."
Eve’s throat tightened. "You don’t have to...."
"We want to," Elena said firmly. "Let us help. Let us do this one thing so you can focus on everything else you’re carrying."
"Okay," Eve managed. "Thank you. Both of you."
At one-thirty, they assembled in the main entrance....a formal departure for a formal eting.
Eve wore the outfit Damian had chosen, her hair pulled back in a style that was elegant without being severe, minimal jewelry except for the silver bracelet that glowed softly with her well-fed status. The mark on her chest was visible, pulsing with steady golden light.
She looked like what she was: a young queen, fully claid, preparing to negotiate her future.
The brothers were in formal attire as well....dark suits that sohow made them look even more dangerous than usual, the quality of the fabric and the fit making clear this was pack authority dressed for diplomatic engagent.
Raphael wore deep purple....a calculated choice that mirrored Traditional faction colors without actually claiming mbership, suggesting affiliation and respect.
"Ready?" Damian asked, his gray eyes assessing Eve carefully.
Eve took a breath. Felt the bond pulse warmly, all three mates broadcasting support and confidence. Felt Raphael’s steady presence at her side.
"Ready," she said.
***
The ridian Estate was about forty minutes from Blackwood territory....ancient neutral ground that had been used for inter-faction negotiations for over three centuries. The main building was elegant stone architecture that managed to feel both formal and welcoming, situated on land that was technically owned by an independent supernatural council that maintained it specifically for diplomatic purposes.
They arrived exactly on ti....not early enough to seem anxious, not late enough to seem disrespectful. The calculated precision of people who understood that timing itself was a form of communication.
Seraphine’s entourage was already there....three vehicles, clearly visible security detail, the purple banners of the Traditional faction displayed with quiet pride.
Ambassador Isadora t them at the entrance, her expression professionally neutral but her eyes showing approval as she took in Eve’s bearing, her visible security, her confident arrival.
"Lady Evangeline," Isadora said, inclining her head. "Welco. Lady Seraphine is waiting in the east parlor. If you’ll follow ?"
They moved through the elegant corridors....Eve flanked by Damian and Silas, Damon and Raphael slightly behind, Marcus Senior and two other pack warriors bringing up the rear. A show of strength that was impossible to miss.
The east parlor was exactly the kind of space designed for important conversations...fortable without being casual, elegant without being ostentatious, with seating arranged to encourage conversation while maintaining appropriate formality.
And in the center of it, rising gracefully as they entered, was Lady Seraphine.
She was....breathtaking.
Not in the conventional sense of physical beauty, though she was certainly beautiful. But in the way ancient, powerful beings were breathtaking....the presence, the certainty, the quality of soone who had witnessed centuries and remained both gracious and formidable.
Her silver-white hair was arranged in an elaborate updo that was both traditional and modern. Her pale lavender eyes were sharp and assessing. Her gown was deep purple, Traditional faction formal wear...cut in a style that suggested both authority and elegance.
She radiated power in a way that was impossible to miss but sohow not aggressive, like standing near a bonfire that was warm rather than burning.
"Lady Evangeline," Seraphine said, her voice carrying the particular resonance of soone speaking with absolute authority. "Thank you for eting with . I’ve been...." A slight pause, her eyes tracking over Eve with comprehensive assessnt. "....eager to assess you myself."
Eve inclined her head...the sa degree of respect she’d given Isadora, neither more nor less. "Lady Seraphine. The honor is mine. The Traditional faction’s support has been....generous."
"Has it?" Seraphine said, sothing that might have been amusent flickering in her expression. "Ambassador Isadora reported that you were sowhat....non-committal about fully accepting that support."
She gestured to the seating area. "Please. Sit. Let’s discuss what you’re actually willing to accept, and what I’m actually willing to offer."
They arranged themselves carefully....Eve on one of the sofas, Damian on her right as host alpha of her territory, Raphael on her left as family. Silas and Damon positioned slightly behind, visible support without crowding the primary conversation.
Seraphine sat across from them, Isadora taking a position standing near the window, another advisor....a severe-looking man with gray temples....beside her.
For a mont, no one spoke.
Seraphine’s pale eyes moved over Eve with the kind of assessnt that missed nothing. Taking in the mark on her chest, the quality of her bearing, the way she held herself....confident without arrogance, prepared without being defensive.
"You’ve lost soone recently," Seraphine said suddenly, and the observation was stated as fact rather than question. "There’s grief in your energy. Fresh grief."
Eve felt surprise flicker through her but controlled her expression. "My mother. Yesterday.’’
"I’m sorry," Seraphine said, and the sympathy in her voice was genuine. "Losing a parent....even an adoptive parent....is profound loss. The fact that you’re here today rather than allowing grief to delay this eting speaks to your dedication."
"My mother’s final words encouraged forward," Eve said quietly. "Honoring her ans continuing. Not hiding from what’s difficult."
Sothing shifted in Seraphine’s expression....approval, perhaps, or respect. "She raised you well."
"She did," Eve agreed.
Seraphine leaned back slightly, her posture relaxing from formal to sothing more conversational. "I’m going to be direct with you, Evangeline. May I call you that?"
"Please."
"I’ve been ruling the Traditional faction for two hundred and thirty-seven years," Seraphine said. "I’ve seen seven different regis, four coups, and more would-be heirs than I care to count. Most of them were either naive idealists who collapsed under the reality of Court politics, or ambitious schers who were more interested in power than governance."
She paused deliberately. "I need to know which category you fall into. Or if....as I hope....you fall into neither."
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