“You meddled,” she repeated, refusing to let him escape the charge.
Damien's mouth twitched. “He wished to spend time with her.”
“And?”
“And she wished to spend time with him,” he said with a small shrug.
Her gaze sharpened further. “So you traded places.”
“Everyone wins,” he smirked.
“You are impossible.”
His smile deepened at the accusation, but before he could offer another infuriating reply, Thalia clapped her hands loudly enough to command the attention of the entire group.
“Attention everyone,” she called.
Seraphine released an exaggerated sigh and shot Damien one last warning look. “You have escaped interrogation.”
“Momentarily,” he replied, inclining his head.
The group leader immediately launched into an explanation of the rules, and Damien turned his attention towards the table before them. A tall mound of flour had been shaped into a precarious tower, with a single penny balanced upon its summit. The object of the game, it seemed, was deceptively simple. Each participant would remove a slice of flour with a knife. Whoever caused the structure to collapse and the penny to fall would be forced to retrieve it using only their mouth.
Damien listened with growing amusement. It was an utterly ridiculous pastime, which naturally meant it was exactly the sort of entertainment Thalia adored. Around them, guests gathered closer, laughing amongst themselves and placing wagers on who would be unfortunate enough to lose.
One by one, players stepped forward and carefully removed portions of the flour. Each successful turn was met with cheers and applause. The tower wobbled occasionally but stubbornly remained standing.
Then Damien's turn arrived.
He accepted the knife from the previous player and weighed it lightly in his hand. As he stepped towards the table, his gaze drifted briefly towards Seraphine. She stood beside him with her hands neatly folded before her, every inch the proper young lady. Her posture was perfect. Her expression composed. Her dignity entirely intact.
Far too proper. Far too composed.
A ridiculous thought slipped into his mind as he watched her standing there with all the dignity of a duchess rather than a participant in one of Thalia's absurd games. He could make her laugh. He could make her abandon that flawless composure. He could make her forget herself for a moment. Before he could examine the impulse too closely, the knife descended. A larger slice than necessary disappeared from the tower, and the structure gave a dangerous wobble. Nobody seemed to notice except Damien and, perhaps, fate itself.
When the knife passed to Seraphine, she eyed him suspiciously. “You are smiling, why?” she said, narrowing her gaze.
Inclining his head, he gestured towards the flour tower. “Your turn.”
Seraphine carefully cut away the smallest portion imaginable. The moment she withdrew the blade, the tower collapsed and the penny vanished into the flour. Cheers erupted from the surrounding guests.
“Oh no!”
“Bad luck, Lady Seraphine!”
“You must find it now!”
Slowly, she turned towards Damien, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “You did that on purpose.”
Damien merely shrugged. “Did what?”
Her expression promised murder. He found it entirely charming.
A moment later she bent forward and plunged her face into the flour. Laughter echoed around them as she searched blindly for the penny. Dark curls escaped their pins and tumbled around her face while flour coated her cheeks and nose. Guests called encouragement from every direction, thoroughly entertained by her predicament. At last she emerged victorious, the penny clenched triumphantly between her teeth.
The group burst into applause.
Seraphine straightened, flour covering nearly half her face. Damien felt an unfamiliar warmth settle in his chest. She looked utterly ridiculous. She looked beautiful. The combination was surprisingly enchanting.
