The Duchess's summons came as dusk bled through the windows of Constello Manor.
Abby trembled as she whispered the orders in Killain's ear as though it were a death sentence, and perhaps it was.
No one went to Duchess Vespera willingly.
The air was heavy when he entered her chamber.
Incense curled like smoke from a funeral pyre, sweet yet cloying, veiling the air in a haze that made the lungs ache.
She sat in her velvet chair, posture as perfect as a statue, her eyes gleaming with the cruelty of someone who knew the world bent for her.
"Come here, child," she said softly.
Her voice was like silk wrapped around a blade.
Killain obeyed, his steps measured, his face void of expression.
He was no longer the weak submissive Eiden.
He had learned in only a handful of weeks that weakness before this woman was a knife pressed to his throat.
When he stopped before her, Vesepera got up from her chair.
Vespera slowly walked to a nearby table in which a basin of water was.
