Page 19

Riven backs off, but just barely. His voice still trembles with rage. “I won’t say it again. He doesn’t belong here.”

“No,” Luna snaps, marching straight between them. “He doesn’t. But he’s here. And if he’s going to be here, he sure as hell better learn fast thatI am not something to win.”

Theo straightens. Smiles. Andbows.

“Oh, darling,” he says, voice silk-wrapped arrogance, “you were never something to win. You were always something tosurvive.”

I inhale. “Oh shit. That’s hot. And also horrifying. But mostly hot.”

Luna shoots me a glare.

Theo just smiles wider.

And all I can think is, dear gods, I may hate him. But this drama? Thismess? I live for it.

Ambrose

We sit at the dinner table like gods, pretending to be civil. It feels like a myth masquerading as a meal. No one really eats. Elias pokes a fork at something that was once risotto, now stiff and drying on the plate. Orin’s posture is as poised as ever, but his hand is curled too tightly around his water glass for a man who claims patience is a virtue. Riven looks like he might flip the table just to see what noise it makes on the way down. Silas, well, Silas is already halfway through plotting his third attempt at a subtle poisoning.

Lucien doesn’t even blink.

Luna is pure fire in a hoodie, jaw set, lips pressed into a slash. She hasn't spoken since we sat. Her fingers drum a soundless rhythm against the wood grain of the table, the tempo escalating with every smug glance Theo casts around the room.

And that’s the problem.

Theo.

He sits in a seat that was never meant to be filled, with one elbow propped on the table as if this is his kingdom now, completely unaware that none of us would hesitate to tear him apart where he stands. He’s smiling,picking at his food as if it’s gourmet, as if he truly belongs here, while we collectively wish we could rip the grin off his face and feed it to the crows.

He lifts a glass, water, but somehow even that feels obscene, and takes a sip. Slow. Deliberate. His blue eyes gleam under the warm dining room light, bouncing from Sin to Sin like he’s assessing our value. Cataloguing us.

I want to throw my steak knife at his throat just to see if he catches it.

“Good spread,” he says finally, voice dragging over the table like velvet laced with broken glass. “Does Caspian always cook? Or are we cycling through talents?”

No one answers. Which is rude, sure. But murderously earned.

He’s still smiling when he turns to Luna. “And you, darling? Do youalwaysglower through dinner, or am I special?”

Lucien’s knuckles tighten against the edge of the table. Riven’s chair groans.

Luna doesn’t look at him. “Keep talking. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll gag you with that spoon.”

Silas snorts into his drink. “Don’t tempt her. She’s gotrange.”

I tap my fingers together and lean forward, ignoring my untouched plate. “Theo,” I say mildly. “You seem to be under the delusion that you’ve joined a dinner party. This isn’tcharming. It’s barely controlled war.”

He flashes me that look, half-temptation, half-fuck-you. “Isn’t war where the real bonding happens?”

I tilt my head, just slightly. “You think you’re clever. You think sitting at this table means you’reequal.It doesn’t.”

He leans back, folding one arm across the back of his chair. “Well, that’s disappointing. I always pictured myself somewhere near the top.”

Silas leans over and stage-whispers, “You’re somewhere near thebasement.”

Theo smiles again. That same obscene, knowing curl of his lips. The kind that says he’s not rattled, he’samused.

“Gods,” he murmurs, looking straight at Luna. “You all orbit her like she's the sun. No wonder you hate me for getting too close.”