The Golden Swan was nothing like the Pleasure District.
Marissa’s first, most imdiate impression was one of clean, quiet, and expensive taste. Where the Pleasure District had been a pit of noise, smoke, and the sll of stale beer and desperation, this establishnt was a sanctuary.
The air was light, slling of citrus, sandalwood, and expensive, fresh-brewed tea. A single musician sat in a far corner, not on a raised, gaudy stage, but on a simple, low platform, his fingers plucking a soft, intricate lody from a lute. The floors were polished, spotless wood, the walls were covered in pale, cream-colored silk, and the few patrons—all of them looking more like wealthy rchants and quiet nobles than drunken gamblers—spoke in low, respectable tones.
This, Marissa thought, her mind racing as she clutched the precious ledger, was a far more dangerous place. Ashlyn’s traps were clumsy, born of rage. Lorena’s were born of jealousy. This... this was different. This was sophistication. This was a place where a man like Derek should feel at ho.
"Your Grace," Senna said, her voice a soft, gentle murmur at her side. She had dismissed the idea of a public tea. "Please, allow to offer you the privacy of my own parlor. You have had a terrible shock. You must rest for a mont."
Marissa, still playing the part of the shaken, grateful victim, gave a small, wobbly nod. "Thank you, Lady Senna. You are too kind."
Senna led her up a private, winding staircase to a beautiful, sunlit room on the third floor. It was clearly her personal sanctuary. It was not gaudy, like the rest of the pleasure district. It was decorated in soft, mossy greens and deep, rich creams. A beautiful, intricately woven rug, its patterns complex and clearly from the western region, covered the floor.
Senna gestured to a plush, comfortable armchair. "Please. Sit. Let get you sothing to drink."
She moved to a small, polished wooden cabinet, from which she produced a stunning, crystal decanter filled with a wine so dark it was almost purple. She poured the liquid into two small, delicate, stemd cups.
"This is a grape wine from the western region," Senna said, her voice a casual, light murmur as she placed one of the cups on a small table by Marissa’s chair. "It is very hard to procure. I was lucky to get my hands on a single cask."
Marissa’s eyes, which had been scanning the room, analyzing every detail, snapped to Senna’s face. The West. The first thing she ntions. The source of the rumors about Senna herself.
As if reading her mind, Senna let out a soft, sweet, and calm laugh. "Oh, please don’t look so alard, Your Grace. You must be hearing the rumors that I, myself, co from the western region." She shook her head, her expression one of light, airy amusent. "I assure you, I am not. I was born right here in the capital. I just have... a passion. I love acquiring things from different parts of the kingdom that are hard to co by. Rare wines, beautiful rugs..." she gave a small, self-deprecating smile, "...even rare talents."
She was, Marissa understood, not just offering a drink. She was offering an entire, plausible, and very elegant explanation for her entire existence.
"Such fine wine," Marissa said, her voice a polite, noncommittal murmur. She was impressed, despite herself. Senna was no fool. "Lady Senna has really splurged."
The complint was a small test of her own. Did you splurge, or did Derek?
Senna laughed softly, a modest, gentle sound. "Please, Your Grace. You saved my life. You are the Grand Duchess, and I am... what I am. But after today, I would be honored if you would just call Senna."
It was a masterfully humble, yet intimate, request. She was positioning herself as a grateful, lowly servant, while simultaneously asking to be on a first-na basis.
Marissa gave a small, regal nod, neither accepting nor refusing. She looked at the dark, purple wine in her cup. She had no intention of drinking it.
Senna picked up her own cup. She held it high, her amber eyes, which had seed so shy on the street, now clear and full of a deep and seemingly genuine gratitude. "I first toast to you, Your Grace," she said, her voice ringing with sincerity. "Thank you, truly, for saving my life. I owe you everything."
She drank her entire cup in one smooth, graceful motion.
With her hands on her laps, she pulled out a silver pin from reticule. She held it in between her fingers and dipped it into the cup when Senna drank hers. It ca out clean.
She looked at Senna’s clear, open, grateful face and raised her own cup. "And thank you, Lady Senna, for helping today. You saved sothing very important to ."
She brought the cup to her lips, tilting it just enough for a polite quantity to pass her lips. She set the cup down, her hand patting her mouth with her handkerchief.
Senna smiled, pleased, and imdiately refilled both their glasses. Her expression, which had been so grateful, now shifted to one of faint, sisterly sadness.
"I toast to you again, Your Grace," she said, her voice dropping to a low, intimate, and truly shocking register. "I want to apologize to you, on behalf of the Grand Duke, for his behavior on your wedding day."
Marissa’s hand, which had been resting on the arm of the chair, froze. This was the real move. This was a declaration.
"He... he was not himself," Senna continued, her gaze dropping to her own cup, as if she were embarrassed, as if she were confessing a shared, painful secret.
"He was so worried about , about my poisoning. He is a passionate man, Your Grace, and sotis his... his loyalty... makes him act in ways that are cold to others." She drank her second cup.
Marissa stared at her, her mind racing. What a breathtaking audacity. Senna was not just a mistress. She was positioning herself as the one who understood the Duke, the one who could interpret his moods and apologize for him. She was, in a single, deft motion, aligning herself with Marissa, as two won who had to manage this difficult, passionate man. It was a subtle, brilliant, and utterly venomous way of establishing her own, superior position.
Marissa chuckled internally and gave a small, tight, polite smile onto her own face. "That is in the past," she said, her voice as light and airy as she could make it. "His Grace was... concerned. It is understandable."
She raised her own cup. And this ti, she drank the entire thing, patting her lips with the handkerchief.
They continued talking, the afternoon sun slanting low, filling the room with a warm, golden light.
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