Page 172 of Savage Throne
The rich aroma of spices wafted up, but all I could taste was my own fury.
Then suddenly, the orchestra’s music shifted, the soft strings and lilting flutes suddenly gave way to something sultrier. The new melody slithered through the air, curling around the pavilion’s towering lapis lazuli pillars like smoke.
Heads turned.
Forks paused mid-air.
Everyone froze.
And then I heard it—the low, creeping rhythm of a jazz tune.
Monique’s theme song. Did she appear?
Dropping my chopsticks next to my bowl, I rose with the rest of the pavilion, the scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet blending into the ominous bassline.
It’s about fucking time, Lei.
Rage simmered within my chest.
I turned my view toward the mosaic path that led to the entrance.
The melody swelled.
My jaw clenched.
This was supposed to be Monique’s and my moment. The historical event of my debuting the new Mountain Mistress to the East as the weapon I had forged.
Instead, it was Lei.
There they were, emerging from the shadows like a scene from some twisted fable. Lei walked tall, his hand gripping Monique’s arm in some ridiculous claim of ownership.
That lovely gown swirled and swayed around her.
She looked every bit the Mountain Mistress but the crown sat on her head, slightly askew, a small imperfection that spoke volumes to anyone truly paying attention.
Why has the crown moved? They only walked. Right?
I narrowed my gaze at them.
Excited whispers rippled through the pavilion.
Camera flashes lit up the path, capturing their every step as the orchestra’s sultry tune deepened.
The new Mountain Mistress.
Presented by her Mountain Master.
I clenched my fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
It should have beenmeholding Monique’s arm, leading her under the glittering chandeliers, and showing everyone the queen I had carved from blood and fire.
It took all my energy to not take my sword out, rush Lei’s way and start the battle right now.
They got closer and I assessed them.
Lei’s formal attire was impeccable—sharp, regal, and untouchable, but there was something about his appearance that grated at me.
His clothes are more wrinkled than earlier.
