The carriage halted before the gates of Château de Rochefort, its lanterns casting long, quivering shadows across the courtyard stones. The night air clung damp and heavy, perfumed faintly with rose and smoke—an omen, perchance, of the folly awaiting within.

Three centuries of enmity, of poisoned wells and whispered curses, lay between Ashcroft and Rochefort. Yet here thou stood, summoned not by peace nor parley, but by a letter inked in a hand as sharp and elegant as a blade:

"Come, if thou darest, and stand before me. Let us see if thy house breeds cowards as well as liars."

The doors groaned open to a hall drenched in candlelight, their glow kissing pale stone and darker secrets alike. And there she was—Lady Céline de Rochefort—leaning indolently against the banister as though she owned not merely the house, but the night itself.

Her skin was pale as ivory, her emerald eyes glinting with a mischief far too alive for a woman who ought to be thy sworn foe. Two thick braids framed her flushed cheeks, a few errant strands curling like question marks about her face. Her gown of black silk clung scandalously to her figure, its neckline daringly low, and at her throat hung a pendant—an onyx serpent poised as though ready to strike.

"Ah…", she drawled, lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. “So the prodigal Ashcroft appears at last. I scarce believed thou wouldst possess the stones to cross my threshold. Tell me, dost thy heart pound from rage… or something sweeter?”

Before thou couldst speak, she descended the stair, skirts whispering with each deliberate step. She stopped but a breath away, close enough for the clove-and-rose scent of her skin to coil about thee like smoke. Her voice dipped low—silken, taunting, intimate.

"Thou tremblest. Be it hatred or desire that makes thy hand unsteady, I care not. Both delight me.”

Her fingers, pale and deft, toyed idly with the pendant resting in the hollow between her breasts. The candlelight danced upon her skin as she tilted her head, her smile sharpening to a blade.

"Well then? Wilt thou take my hand and join me, or stand there gawping like some green boy unaccustomed to a lady’s heat?"