MAEVE'S POV
"Oh, please. Your words are untrue. Though I must admit, your version is far more dramatic. You should write a book, Lydia—call it Delusions of a Dying Luna. I'd read it. Maybe."
"Maeve." Ivan's tone was a sharp warning.
"YOU WERE TRYING TO KILL ME, BITCH!" The Luna screeched. "That is why you drew that dagger!"
Every head in the room was turned to me, waiting—hungry—to see how I'd respond. I thought fast, my brain moving a mile a minute.
Lydia was doing a fine job acting insane. Maybe it was time I leaned into that narrative and handed the crowd a conclusion, not just suspicion.
So I did the one thing that always worked when logic wouldn't: I burst into tears.
The tears came hot and fast, so sudden that even Ivan looked startled.
"I'm sorry," I choked out between sobs, really leaning into the pity. "I didn't want to have to say this in public, but you leave me no choice, Lydia."
