{Talia}
Talia wanted to stab Darius Goldspire with an ice spike.
Right through the eye. Quick, clean, satisfying.
She imagined it in vivid detail as he laughed at something her mother said—the way the ice would form, sharp and gleaming, the moment it would pierce through his smug face, the shocked expression as his brain realized it was dying.
She hadn't been this analytical about murder since she fantasized about burning Aegis alive.
"Talia, dear?"
She blinked, returning to reality.
Her mother, Duchess Evangeline Stone, was looking at her with that smile. The one that meant Talia had fucked up in some form or fashion.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Lord Darius was asking about your favorite flowers. For the wedding arrangements."
"We're not engaged yet," Talia said flatly.
"A formality," Darius said, reaching across the table to pat her hand. "I'm confident you will see reason soon enough."
Talia pulled her hand back.
"How presumptuous of you."
