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“Alfred,” Larissa barks. “Knock it off.”

Alfred raises his eyebrows, smirking, but not in a nice way—not like Cassian smirks.

Why Alfred is so keen to help House Sorin, I don’t know, except it will elevate Larissa’s status. That, and he’s a gutless flip-flopper who will gladly float from house to house, aiding whomever he deems the most powerful at the moment.

And right now, that appears to be House Sorin. Which is, no doubt, partially thanks to me, even if my hand in it was unintentional.

You knew,my inner voice reprimands me.

All right. Yes.Fine. Maybe it wasn’tcompletelyunintentional. Perhaps a part of me—the jaded, scorned part—knew exactly what she was doing when she made the deal with Gerald. Maybe I wanted to drag Cassian off his high and mighty pedestal. Hurt him a little. Make his life uncomfortable.

And perhaps I feel a little guilty about that now and don’t want to be a part of it anymore. Maybe I’m tired of this slimy knot in my stomach.

More often than not, I have trouble looking at my reflection in the mirror.

But it’s too late for regrets. I’m deeply entrenched in this mess. And now, I’m not sure I even have a choice.

“This is pointless,” I say. “Cassian doesn’t want the throne anyway.”

“Word has it he’s wavering.” Alfred narrows his eyes like I might have had something to do with that. And maybe I said afewthings to my ex-fiancé that didn’t help House Sorin’s cause, back when I thought I was going to be free of all this.

“This is merely insurance to ensure he doesn’t change his mind,” Larissa adds, her tone controlled once more.

Frustrated, I cross my arms. “Even if he’s thinking about it, what makes you believe he’ll step down because of me?”

Larissa and Alfred share a look.

“Do this, and we can go eat,” Alfred finally says. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I don’t need food; I needblood,” I hiss, hating how crass I sound.

“The restaurant has local blood.” He smiles. “Shark. Alligator. Florida panther.”

“Aren’t Florida panthers endangered?” I demand.

He merely shrugs like he couldn’t care less.

“Sophia only consumes animals on the ‘Least Concern’ list,” Larissa reminds him.

Her boyfriend suppresses an eye roll. “Cow then. I don’t care. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” I agree, telling myself this subterfuge won’t make any difference. My ex-fiancé is going to do whatever he wants,regardless of my part in it. Just like he always has. “Call Cassian.”

Alfred nods, satisfied, and sends a text on his phone. A minute later, Sam walks into the suite. He’s handsome in a deadly sort of way, with thick brown hair and arms covered in tattoos.

He’s of the Sorin line, one of Larissa’s few progenies. He’s also supposed to be in prison.

“Make the call,” Alfred commands, settling back in his chair and resting his arms on the armrests like he fancies himself some sort of king.

Larissa hands Sam the script she wrote for him earlier. The assassin reads it over, nodding when he’s finished.

“You’re going to distort my voice so Cassian won’t recognize it, right?” he asks.

“We already have it set up.”

“If you’re going to change his voice, why can’t Alfred make the call?” I ask.

“Cassian might recognize Alfred’s speaking patterns, even if his voice is distorted,” Larissa answers.