17

Tyrant Luciano Zarkov Sebastian was smaller up close. Not physically. Physically he was acceptable enough—broad shoulders, expensive tailoring, the polished face of a man who had likely spent too much of his life being told he was desirable. No. Smaller in the ways that mattered. Men who shouted usually were. Men who approached my mate with entitlement while she visibly recoiled from them usually were. Most importantly— men who announced this is my wife as if ownership could be restored by volume were almost always catastrophically stupid. My hand remained firm at Katherine’s waist. Beneath my palm I could feel the slight tremor still moving through her. Pain. Memory strain. Discomfort. Her body had not settled since seeing him. That alone was enough to lower my patience to dangerous levels. Sebastian swallowed under my stare. “With respect, Your Majesty,” he repeated, attempting composure he clearly did not possess, “Katherine Harrington is legally married to me.” I considered him for a long second. Then asked the only relevant question. “You are Sebastian.” His brows pulled together, thrown by the simplicity of it. “Yes.” “Mm.” I looked him over once more. This was the man. This aggressively average little inconvenience was the male Katherine had once bled for, signed papers for, and nearly died being harvested for. Deeply disappointing. “I had expected…” I said slowly, “…more.” Sebastian stiffened. “I beg your pardon?” “You heard me.” A ripple of shocked silence moved through the nearest guests. Good. Let them listen. Humiliation was always more educational with witnesses. Helen made a tiny distressed sound at Sebastian’s side, but I ignored her entirely. My eyes remained on him. “You claim that woman as your wife,” I said, inclining my head slightly toward Katherine without looking away from him. “Interesting. Tell me—was this before or after you divorced her ten times?” Sebastian went still. Completely. The color drained from his face. Ah. So we had reached the useful part. “I—” “No, wait.” I lifted one gloved finger. “Let me be precise. I dislike vague men.” A few people in the crowd shifted. No one dared interrupt. “You married her.” “Yes, but—” “You divorced her.” Sebastian swallowed. “There were circumstances—” “You remarried her.” Silence. “You divorced her again.” His jaw clenched. “And again.” Helen’s breathing quickened audibly. “And again.” Murmurs began around us. I continued in the same conversational tone one might use while discussing weather. “Ten times, if my information is accurate. An impressive administrative commitment to indecision.” Sebastian’s ears had begun turning red. “This is a private marital matter,” he said tightly. I almost smiled. “No.” I leaned slightly closer. “It ceased being private when your wife ended up carved open in an operating room.” The ballroom froze. Even the musicians had stopped pretending to play. Sebastian looked as though he had been struck. Helen made a sharp inhale. I continued. “Tell me, Sebastian.” My voice lowered. “When exactly did you decide wedding vows could be exchanged for organ requests?” “That is not what happened.” “No?” I arched a brow. “My apologies. Perhaps I misunderstood the messages where you referred to her as a selfish b***h for refusing to surrender a kidney to your pregnant mistress.” A collective gasp. Several guests turned openly to stare at Helen now. Helen’s lips parted. Sebastian looked ready to be sick. Katherine shifted slightly beside me. Good. Let her hear it all. Let every lie be dragged into light. Sebastian found his voice at last. “Helen was dying,” he snapped. “She needed help. Katherine understood that.” I stared at him. The stupidity was almost scholarly. “Did she?” I asked softly. “Yes!” “Excellent.” I nodded once. “Then perhaps you can explain why this deeply understanding wife of yours was sedated while the procedure began.” Sebastian’s mouth shut. Hard. I tilted my head. “No explanation?” His eyes darted once toward Helen. There. Cowardice. Predictable. “She consented,” Helen cut in suddenly, voice trembling. “Katherine always loved Sebastian. She would do anything for him—” I turned to her for the first time. Helen immediately fell silent. Women like her often mistook tears for armor. They forgot tears did very little when facing executioners. “And you are Helen,” I said. It was not a question. She nodded weakly. “How fortunate,” I replied. “I do enjoy speaking directly to parasites.” Gasps burst out openly this time. Sebastian stepped forward. “Your Majesty, that's enough—” “Percy,” I said without taking my eyes off either of them. “Yes, sire.” “Seal the exits.” The ballroom doors slammed shut. Guards moved instantly into position. “We will continue.” Sebastian’s throat bobbed. I let the silence sit long enough to become punishment before speaking again. “Are you currently married to Helen?” Sebastian blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift. “What?” I repeated, slower. “Try listening this time. Are you married to the blonde parasite standing beside you?” A muffled snort escaped somewhere in the ballroom. Helen’s face went scarlet. Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Yes.” “Excellent.” I nodded once. “So while legally binding Katherine to you over and over again, you still found enough free time to marry your mistress.” Murmurs burst out again. I continued. “Efficient. Morally diseased, but efficient.” Sebastian opened his mouth. Closed it. Good. No defense was better than bad defense. I glanced toward Percy. He understood immediately and handed me the black file tucked under his arm. I opened it. Sebastian paled visibly. Ah. Recognition. Wonderful. “You know what I enjoy most about investigators?” I said conversationally, flipping one page. “They find things men assume women will never learn.” Sebastian took an involuntary step back. Helen grabbed his sleeve. I read aloud. “Three separate luxury apartment leases under false company names.” Gasps. “A jewelry account billing to Morgan provincial funds.” Helen went rigid. “Repeated transfers from Katherine Harrington’s personal trust into debts accumulated by one Sebastian Vale during speculative publishing losses.” The crowd made a collective ugly sound. I lifted my eyes. “So not only did you recycle your wife—” one brow arched— “you financed adultery with her money.” This time actual laughter broke out. Not warm laughter. Cruel laughter. The kind high society reserved for men who had become entertainment. Sebastian’s face darkened to a violent red. “That is none of your business!” “On the contrary,” I said. “The financial abuse of my mate has become profoundly my business.” Katherine made a sudden sound beside me. I looked down. She was staring at Sebastian. Then at the file. Then back at Sebastian. And to my mild surprise— she laughed. Not a polite little chuckle. A real laugh. Bright. Disbelieving. Almost delighted. She pressed one hand to her chest. “This?” she said, looking Sebastian up and down with theatrical offense. “This is what had me in a chokehold for five years?” A few guests failed to suppress their smiles. Katherine blinked again, still laughing softly. “Oh my God. Old Katherine had catastrophically poor taste.” Even I felt the corner of my mouth threaten movement. Sebastian looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Katherine,” he hissed. “Enough.” She turned her hazel eyes to him. Still amused. “No, I’m genuinely trying to understand.” She tilted her head. “I nearly donated internal organs for that?” A man near the left pillar choked on champagne. Helen snapped. “How dare you?” she shrilled, stepping forward. “You ungrateful, mannerless little—” Katherine moved before anyone expected it. She lifted the nearest glass of red wine from a passing tray. Turned. And with one smooth flick of her wrist— splashed the entire thing directly into Helen’s face. The crimson liquid ran down silk, pearls, blonde curls. A collective scream tore through the women nearest the front. Helen stood frozen. Dripping. Stunned beyond language. Katherine handed the empty glass calmly back to the horrified waiter. Then smiled. “That,” she said sweetly, “was for glaring at me like roadkill.”