CHAPTER 77
Isabella's breath hitched, her lungs seizing as she found herself inches away from young Lucian.
Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, a scream dying in her throat, but the young prince didn't even blink.
He charged forward, his shoulder passing through hers with a ghostly chill that left her shivering.
He didn't see her. He couldn't feel the tears still wet on her cheeks. She was in a different room now—Lucian's chambers.
Unlike Caleb's warm, cedar-scented sanctuary, this room felt sharp and cold. Iron weapons hung on the walls, and the air smelled of bitter wine and unspent rage.
Lucian was pacing the length of the rug like a caged predator. His hair was disheveled, and his knuckles were white as he gripped a silver goblet.
"How dare she?" he hissed, his voice trembling with a toxic mix of wounded pride and obsession.
