“Come, Jason,” Striden says, steering his son toward the door.
Jason flashes another smirk before following his father, the envelope still clutched tightly in his hand. The heavy door closes behind them, their absence a relief I don’t bother hiding.
Clyde exhales, slouching into his chair with exaggerated exhaustion.
“Humans,” he mutters, swirling the contents of his glass. “So simple. So predictable.”
I remain silent, leaning against the desk with my arms crossed, letting the silence stretch. Clyde hates silence, hates when he isn’t the center of attention. So I let it linger, savoring the irritation that momentarily flashes across his face.
“You’ve planned for every contingency,” I say finally, my voice dry and cutting.
His smirk returns in full force. “That’s why I’m still here, Ghost. And why you’re still here. You play your partsowell.”
My grip tightens around the glass still in my hand.
“Jason’s a rake,” I say curtly. “Half the kingdom knows it.”
Clyde lets out a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair as though my words are the most entertaining thing he’s heard all evening. He swirls his wine lazily, mock concern knit across his brow.
“A rake, you say?” he muses, entertained, as if he’s toying with the idea. His keen eyes meet mine, gleaming with insincere curiosity.
“Do you think that matters?” He chuckles again, low and condescending. “Ah, Ghost, you do have a way with observations.”
The mockery makes my jaw tighten, but I don’t take the bait.Instead, let the silence stretch until his light-heartedness fades into something colder.
“That’s one of the reasons I chose him,” Clyde says, insufferably smug. “He indulges in his vices—which, naturally, will give me grandchildren—but more importantly, my daughter will see him for exactly what he is. A rake.” His smile deepens, his tone more satisfied. “And that will make me her savior. Her hero.Always.”
The arrogance in his voice grates against my nerves, but I let it linger, his self-importance hanging in the air. Slowly, I smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s a deliberate curve of my lips that masks far more than it reveals.
Without a word, I set my drink down on the edge of the desk, the faint thud cutting through the silence like a knife. My hand moves to the letter opener, fingers curling around its handle as I lift it, the cool metal a satisfying weight in my grip.
Clyde’s eyes flick to the blade.
“Are you planning to use that, Ghost?” he asks, his tone light, almost teasing, as though he finds the very idea amusing. “Or is this just another one of your quiet gestures?”
I glance at him, letting my smile linger a little longer before shifting the letter opener in my hand. The blade catches the light as I twirl it idly between my fingers.
“It’s tempting,” I reply evenly, my voice void of any warmth, “but I’d hate to ruin your evening before the festivities even begin.”
Clyde chuckles, the sound like rusted nails dragging across stone. He leans back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his wine like the smug bastard he is. I resist the urge to drive the letter opener in my hand straight through his throat.
“You’ve always been one for dramatics, Ghost,” he says, his words dripping with condescension. “Tell me, has your time away softened you? Do you find yourself longing for the comforts of court life?”
I clench my jaw so tightly it’s a wonder my teeth don’t crack. Court life. This castle. Him. It’s all poison. Every inch of this place reeks of the lies and violence I grew up in, every memory stained with blood and betrayal. I stayed away for a reason—to forget thisplace, to outrun the nightmares it bred. But now, the chains around me have tightened, and I’m back where I swore I’d never be.
“Why?” I sneer, tilting my head. “Did you miss me?” My tone drips with mockery, a challenge hidden beneath the venom of my words.
Clyde’s grin twists into something darker, his eyes narrowing. “Miss you? No, Ghost, I’m well aware of where I stand in your affections. But the court has been… lacking in entertainment during your absence.”
I hate the way he says it, as if I’m some pawn he can summon at will. The man who tortured the only woman I ever cared about and turned me into his weapon now has the audacity to smirk at me like we’re equals. My grip tightens around the letter opener in my hand, its cold steel grounding me as I resist the impulse to act.
“Are you staying for the festivities,Ghost?” he asks, still mocking.
I don’t answer immediately, letting the question linger in the air. My thumb brushes the edge of the blade, turning it lazily in my hand before I glance up.
“Are you not sending us out?” I reply, my voice flat. “Or have you forgotten that you sold us off like whores to your new human family?”
Clyde falters slightly, but he recovers quickly, leaning forward just enough to loom. His tone loses its feigned lightness.
