Damon
The echo of polite applause still clung to my skin as I stepped into Ella’s receiving room. The air here was thick with her perfume, sweeter than honey and just as cloying.
She sat poised in a high-backed chair near the window, one ankle crossed neatly over the other, her smile slow and satisfied.
“Your speech was… inspiring,” she said, her tone dripping with false praise. “The court is already celebrating the match. Elena looked radiant.”
I didn’t respond. My gaze went straight to the silver tray at her side. On it, resting in a cradle of velvet, was the second vial.
The liquid caught the light, golden and viscous, shifting sluggishly in its glass prison.
“Just as promised,” Ella said, lifting it between two fingers. “The price of peace. And loyalty.”
Her words were bait
