Eleanor's POV
I didn't say a word. I just looked at the Thornes, then back at the man who was my father, my face a blank mask.
"Are you deaf, girl?" he snapped, his voice cracking through the room like a whip.
I met his glare. "I'm not deaf," I said, my voice flat. "But I can see why you'd think that. Most people probably ignore you for their own sanity."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. A collective, sharp intake of breath from several people. The older Thorne woman, Cleo, raised a thin eyebrow. The predatory young woman had a smirk playing on her lips.
"It is no pleasure to meet any of you," I continued, turning my gaze back to Morgana. "I'd like to go back to my room now."
"You will watch your words," Morgana said, her tone dangerously low.
"Or what?" I asked, tilting my head. "You'll kill me?" A brittle laugh escaped me. "No. You can't. Because you need me. Or, correction, you need my body. For your little… fetish prophecy."
