Mei
The air in the library had become a thick, oily soup. Lucian's hand was moving through it like a blade—slow, inevitable, and terrifying. His fingers were inches from her chin, his amber eyes locked onto hers with a hypnotic intensity that felt like being stared down by a cobra.
Mei's heart was drumming a frantic, dying rhythm against her ribs. She had insulted him, called him a scavenger, and the mask of the charming prince hadn't just slipped—it had shattered.
"You think you're so brave, little bird," Lucian whispered, his voice no longer honeyed but sharp as a surgical scalpel.
"You think loyalty is a shield. But loyalty is just a debt that hasn't been collected yet."
His thumb brushed the underside of her jaw. The skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt of ice through her system. It was a cold, hollow power, a mockery of the warmth she felt from Alaric. She tried to pull back, but the bookshelf was a hard, uncaring wall against her spine.
Then, it happened.
