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Chapter 16 - Chapter Sixteen: Torn Venetian Silk

When Alfred II's fingers tore into the collar of my Venetian silk gown, I heard the crisp snap of golden thread unraveling. The entire banquet hall seemed to freeze—the flames in the chandeliers ceased their dance.

"Does Your Majesty intend to give a striptease before the court?" I murmured, voice low as the chill of the torn silk crept down my spine. "Or is it the King of England's new hobby to ruin the gowns of foreign envoys?"

His eyes beneath the silver mask burned with ice-blue fire. He yanked me into the shadows of a marble pillar, where the stained-glass windows painted fractured scars across his face. "So this is your tactic for seducing Russian emissaries? Wearing a gown that reveals your goddamn cleft?"

I smoothed the ripped neckline, revealing even more skin. "Compared to your mistresses wearing sheer chemises to Sunday Mass, I'm practically a nun." I caught sight of Leonid standing on the terrace, moonlight edging his figure in silver. "Besides, Lord Romanov seemed to appreciate it—"

"Enough!" Alfred gripped my chin with such force that I bit my lip. The taste of blood filled my mouth before he released me, as if burned. "You leave for the Winston estate at dawn. Bed any knight you like—I won't care!"

I licked the blood from my lips, making my voice sickeningly sweet. "How generous of you, Your Majesty. But..." I yanked off his embroidered cloak and flung it to the floor. "Kindly save your fake concern for the dogs."

As I turned, I could've sworn his hand trembled when he bent to retrieve the cloak. But what truly unsettled me was the look in Leonid's eyes from beneath the yew tree—that look, the same as the one from the night of the Cambridge fire.

"You here to judge me, too?" I laughed bitterly as I approached. "Don't bother. In your eyes, I've always been—"

"The Byzantine coin," he cut me off, suddenly seizing my wrist. "What's inscribed along the edge?"

My blood froze.

That coin—coin-the one my senior had pressed into my hand as he lay dying—did bear a line of Greek script. A line only we two had ever known.

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