The words hung there, thick and cloying, wrapping around my throat like a noose.
I felt the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on me, waiting.Watching.
But I could not move.
I could not breathe.
I averted my eyes, a shudder rippling through me as I met the grotesque spectacle of Lord Winston.His gaze held the mottled gleam of a half-eaten feast, glistening with something that sent revulsion crawling over my skin.Greasy strands of hair escaped the confines of his powdered wig in rebellious wisps, and flecks of the evening’s repast clung grimly between the yellowed nubs that masqueraded as teeth.
A smear of something—pheasant, perhaps, or the remains of a tarte tatin—adorned his cheek like a vile emblem of gluttony.
The scent that wafted from him was a miasma of decay.
I fought the violent urge to recoil.
“Here’s to the lovely couple!”someone bellowed, raising their glass high.
The chorus of agreements that followed rang through the chamber like a funeral dirge to my hopes.
My hand trembled as I lifted my glass, but I could not meet Lord Hassan’s gaze.
Earlier, he had set butterflies loose in my stomach.
Now, only loathing lingered, curling around my ribs like an iron vice.
I wished—prayed—for the earth to open beneath me and swallow me whole.
With a graceless thud, Winston’s ponderous form collapsed back into his chair, jostling the table and nearly toppling into my lap.
Instinctively, my hands shot out to steady him, and my fingers brushed against his coat’s damp, clammy fabric.
I recoiled, horrified, but only once he was upright did I snatch my hands back, my stomach twisting violently.
I grabbed my napkin and scrubbed at my skin as though I could wipe away the sensation of his touch.
But no amount of silk and friction could erase the taint of his filth.
A sudden shift swept through the room, as thick as an oncoming storm.
My father cleared his throat.
The low hum of conversation halted, his voice shattered the silence, crisp and unyielding.
“Gentlemen,” he began, his eyes dark with solemnity, “the Black Wraith has become a serious threat to our society and cause.”
A ripple of murmurs surged through the assembly, a tide of unease.
From down the table, my father’s gaze slid to where Lord Hassan sat, composed and silent.
Their eyes met.
A nod passed between them—so brief and subtle—that I almost doubted I had seen it.
Yet it spoke volumes.
What pact lay between them?
“He has destroyed important leaders in our society, as well as the societies themselves,” my father continued, his voice steeped in venom.“The Black Wraith’s ruthless and barbaric actions have reduced our influence, eliminating our strongest allies across Europe.The French society has fallen.And my sons—” He spat the words, a snarl curling from his lips.“My sons were slaughtered by his hand.”
