Her fingers curled into fists. Damn him.
Pacing to the window, Selene stared into the courtyard. Lanterns flickered across the stone paths, casting gold and crimson shadows that looked like blood and fire. It suited this place, this prison of twisted games and unspoken war. Every time she thought she had found a crack in Zavian's armor, he exposed one in hers instead.
Don't fall for me, he had said.
Too late.
But falling didn't mean surrender.
A soft knock on the door pulled her back to reality. Edgar entered quietly, bowing with the same old precision. "My lady, Lord Zavian asked me to escort you to the east wing. The council has sent a message, and he wants you present."
Her brows furrowed. "Council? Why would he want me there?"
"I don't question his orders, my lady," Edgar replied with a practiced smile. "Only carry them out."
