Cessalie traced the rim of the teacup kept in front of her on table, with one finger, eyes locked on the surface like it had secrets written in the steam.
"How do we bring him out?" she repeated, her voice soft, distracted. Then she looked up. "You don't bring men like Tiberius out, Davian. You pull them."
Davian leaned back a little, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Same thing."
She shook her head slowly, not returning his smile. "No. It isn't. Driving him out would be awkward and too noticeable. And we don't need that."
Her fingers tapped the cup once, then again. "We need whispers."
Davian narrowed his eyes a little. "Go on."
Cessalie tilted her head, acting like she was still thinking. "Step one… we give him a reason to come out. But not our reason. His."
She let the words sit for a second, watching his face. He tried to process and understand it but couldn't.
He frowned, moving his fingers in a questioable gesture. "Meaning?"
"We start a rumor," she said finally, like it was nothing. "Something small but sharp that pokes at him just enough to get under his skin. He won't be able to ignore it."
Davian frowned. "What kind of rumor?"
Her smile grew, just slightly. Instead of answering, she leaned in, elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm. "He already has problems with the temple, doesn't he? They've been waiting for a reason to cut him down."
She looked pleased with herself. And honestly? She should be.
Davian nodded once. "They hate him."
"Perfect," Cessalie said under her breath. "Then we give them a fake reason to do that more."
Davian blinked. "A fake reason to—?"
"Think," she interrupted, tapping her temple lightly. "The temple already dislikes him for his differing beliefs, and he does not follow their rules. So what if they suddenly find 'evidence' tying him to secret dealings with witches? Nothing concrete, just enough rumors to stir trouble."
This wasn't about exposing Tiberius as some secret witch sympathizer. That wouldn't help the witches, the temple would only crack down harder to save face. This was about pressure.
If the whispers landed right, the temple would start turning on itself. His rivals would circle, the council would question him, and Tiberius would have no choice but to come out and control the narrative even though he had no dealings with witches yet but he did believe they were not harm. And when he comes, that's when the real work would start.
More importantly, the public would start asking questions. Why was the High Lunarch tangled up with witches when the temple itself called them dangerous? That doubt alone was worth more than a thousand protests.
She paused, letting the idea settle.
"His pride won't let him sit quiet if he thinks they're coming for him with lies. He'll come out swinging to defend his name, to take back control." She tilted her head. "And when he does… you'll be right there."
Davian stayed quiet for a second, clearly turning it over in his head. "It's risky. Tiberius's is not predictable." he muttered.
"All the best ideas are risky and we cannot make conclusios without even doing anything. ," Cessalie said, sweet as honey.
His gaze flicked back to her, slower this time. Likd he was seeing her in a different light, not the gown, not the curls. Her.
"Alright," he said at last, leaning back. "And how do you plan to start this rumor without it coming back to us?"
Cessalie smiled. This time, it didn't reach her eyes.
"Step two," she said, her fingers trailing down the side of the teacup again. "We use his own people."
Davian raised a brow. "You don't know his people."
Her smile didn't falter. "No. But you know. That's where you help."
He looked… amused. A short, quiet exhale escaped him, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Convenient."
"Necessary," she corrected, tapping the table lightly. "Tell me."
Davian hesitated, eyes scanning her face like weighing whether to humour her or gatekeep it all. But eventually, logic won over ego.
"His circle's small," Davian started, voice slipping into that low, calculated tone he used when the walls came down and only strategy remained. "Mostly court aides and temple insiders. He keeps merchants close, especially ones dealing with rare imports like artefacts, books, medicines the temple pretends don't exist."
Cessalie's brow lifted. "Witch medicines, are these?"
"Not openly but I suspect yes." Davian leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "There's a spice trader, Callun Merrow. He is old family friend of Lunarch. He is technically neutral but ealistically, he follows the money and the power. He's tied to Tiberius by reputation."
Cessalie's eyes sparked faintly, her mind already building the framework. "He gossips?"
"Not directly. But his shipments get inspected, his employees talk, the docks listen."
She nodded slowly, piecing it together. "So… if a whisper starts there, it won't seem deliberate. It'll seem… accidental and overheard, right?"
Davian smiled faintly. "Exactly."
She leaned back, a slow, satisfied breath leaving her lips. "Good. That's our leak."
Davian tilted his head. "You're that confident?"
"Callum's people talk, docks listen, word travels," Cessalie counted off on her fingers. "Within a week days, if it reaches the palace. Tiberius would hear it from his aides. You can't buy a better rumour chain than one that starts in the gutter and ends in a throne room."
Davian's expression darkened slightly, impressed despite himself. "And what's the whisper exactly?"
Cessalie rubbed her chin, eyes fixed on nothing. "Simple. The temple is preparing to expose the Lunarch for secret dealings with witch factions. Evidence has surfaced, enemies are gathering."
A beat of silence.
Davian exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the table now too, mirroring her rhythm. "That's also dangerous."
"All the good moves are," she repeated with a shrug.
For a moment, silence sat between them.
Finally, Davian spoke again. "And step three?"
Cessalie smiled. But this time, she didn't answer.
Instead, she leaned back, stretching her hands on table, "One step at a time, Duke. Let the rumour breathe… then we'll pull the next thread."
And exactly as cessalie had said, within one week, rumour rumour takiny it's sweet time, had sunk its claws into every corner of the capital city.
It didn't explode like a scandal at the market. It whispered through taverns, slipped into merchant houses, crawled up the palace walls quietly
How it started? Simple.
Davian had arranged for a shipment to arrive at the docks. But not through his own name, that would've been stupid.
Instead, he used Cellis, a discreet merchant from the lower markets. Kellis wasn't flashy, but he had two valuable qualities—no loyalty to the temple, and a network that reached from the black markets to the merchant guild.
The herbs? He brought them from the border towns, the grey areas where temple patrols were lazy and witches still traded quietly under the table.
It was nothing illegal enough to spark arrests, but definitely enough to make people think.
Stuff like bloodroot, silver ash, and lunar stone dust, all materials used in healing, or otherwise, not banned… but highly monitored.
And the crate? It bore the seal of Callum Merrow, a rich merchant with a sketchy reputation. That seal was easy to get. Callum sold it to smugglers for the right price, his name already whispered in taverns for shady trades.
The crate landed at the city docks even though medicinal crates were supposed to go direct to tower through Callum but it landed under Orren. Orren, the dock clerk, noticed what's inside.
Orren loved two things, spotting trouble… and gossiping about it over ale.
When he saw Callum's seal, those 'witchy' supplies, and the fact that it was all headed to High Lunarch's tower and temple? His curiosity practically exploded.
Three days later, Orren sat at The Velvet Gull, the loudest, drunkest tavern near the docks. His cousin worked there, serving drinks. He shared the story, laughing, whispering, nudging.
But nearby? A group of sailors listened. Sailors who didn't keep secrets for long.
The sailors carried the gossip straight to the merchant district. While unloading goods at a noble's house, they joked loudly about "The Lunarch running witch trades now."
One of the servants in that house had a brother working inside the temple, not just anywhere, in the High Lunarch's tower.
Within days, the rumour crept into the temple halls, quietly but dangerous, spreading like smoke no one could catch.
By the end of the week, everyone had heard it but in their own twisted version.
"The temple's after the High Lunarch. Evidence of witch dealings. They're preparing to expose him."
There were not poofs, no faces, just whispers sharp enough to rattle even the most powerful man in the city.
The very next day, Davian stood in the garden, a folded letter in hand, the wax seal still untouched. It had Lunarch's crest pressed sharp and clear into the red. His jaw was tense but there was the faintest curl of surprise beneath it.
Cessalie sat calmly at the table, a book half-open in front of her, though her eyes hadn't left him since he'd walked in. She already knew.
"It's done," Davian said simply, holding the letter between two fingers like it was heavier than it looked.
Cessalie took it, turning it over in her palm, inspecting the seal. "Tiberius?"
"His aide came straight to my office." Davian pulled out the chair across from her, sitting with a slow, thoughtful exhale. "Just this."
Cessalie cracked the seal with her nail, unfolding the letter.
The High Lunarch wanted a private meeting without any public scene, no official process.
Davian watched her reaction, his brow furrowing. "It's… convenient."
Cessalie's lips curved into a quiet, sharp smile, nodding.
Davian's fingers drummed once on the table, his gaze narrowing. "But why me? How did he come straight to me? Wouldn't it risk his reputation more as everyone in kindom is aware that I support witches openly."
She set the letter down. "Exactly. Because you are the only one supporting witches and needed him to come out."
Davian's eyes darkened slightly, processing that. He lost in deep thoughts trying to figure out cessalie's words.
Davian nodded slowly, the logic falling into place. Suddenly his eyes widened as he realised cessalie made him the bait. "Wait. You knew he would find out I spread rumours, right?"
She nodded, smiling sweetly, tilting her head.
Davian's eyes flicked to hers. "What? How? I made sure he cannot trace me—"
"He's not the High Lunarch for nothing," Cessalie finished, a glint of satisfaction in her gaze. "Of course he traced the whispers back to you. And of course, he knows… that's why he has approached you to talk about these rumours."
Davian sat there, his mouth slightly open, staring at Cessalie. He could see it now...how she planned everything, letting him think he was in control, when really he was the bait. She was the one pulling the strings.
He didn't know what to say, and she didn't rush him, just played with a lock of her hair, curling it between her fingers.