“Then marry Seraphina when she wakes up. Let your council choke on their own rules. Problem solved. Empire saved.”
“Seraphina,” he said, exhaling smoke toward the chandelier, “will be... conveniently incapable of walking, talking, or standing at an altar for several months. I ensured that.”
His tone didn’t change.
But the room seemed to flinch.
“I need someone now.”
I laughed.
Sharp. Ugly. Disbelieving.
“Right. And you thought—what—the random tourist who happens to look like your dead wife would do? Just slap a ring on me and call it strategy?”
He didn’t blink.
“I thought,” he said softly — dangerously softly — “that the woman who sent a carbon copy of my own childhood face to sabotage my wedding might have an agenda worth hearing.”
My stomach dropped so fast I nearly swayed.
He took a step closer, heat radiating from him in waves.
Then another step.
Until I could see the flecks of silver in his irises, the ones that only appeared when he was restraining violence.
“Get your luggage,” he said. “You and the boy will move into the villa tonight.”
“No.” It tore out of me before I even stood. A clean, violent word.
I pushed up from the chair so fast it scraped against the tile, instinct yanking me backward, away from him, away from that command.
My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break out.
“We are strangers. I don’t follow your orders. If that’s how things work in your little kingdom, wonderful for you — but I’m not one of your subjects.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. His fist balled until the veins stood out like ropes.
He closed the distance in two strides, towering over me like a shadow with teeth.
“Then explain something to me,” he growled, voice vibrating the air itself.
“Explain why you sent your son to grab my hand at the altar in front of five hundred witnesses.”
Another step.
“Explain why you walk into my territory wearing Penelope’s face. The face I see every time I close my eyes.”
Another step.
“Explain,” he hissed, “why that boy has my eyes. My mouth. And why he’s holding my phone—the same phone he ‘accidentally’ picked up. He didn’t steal it, did he? You sent him.”
The final words were so quiet they were more of a promise than a threat.
“I will tear the truth out of you one way or another.”
My breath stuttered. But I forced myself to stand.
