Vincent’s POV
The call ended with a clean, merciless click.
For a breath, I felt…satisfied. Petty, yes. But real. For once it wasn’t her pulling away—it was me shutting the door. She had refused me, refused Myra, and I’d answered with finality.
The satisfaction faded fast. Guilt slid in its place. Myra’s small smile—bright, breakable—rose in my mind, and I hated that my pride had touched even the shadow of it.
Better anger than admitting you still want her voice, I told myself.
Adam stirred. Coward.
“I’m king,” I muttered, pocketing the phone. “Not a boy begging at a door.”
Then rule. Stop bleeding over it.
Before I could answer him, the council chamber doors opened. My mother entered first, soft skirts cutting the room like a blade hidden in silk. Calm face; warning eyes.
“Vincen
