Chapter 7 · The Crimson Banquet

"Drink up, Silas. You look like you've seen a ghost," the Duke sneered, sliding a heavy crystal glass of wine across the mahogany table.

Silas didn't move. He didn't even blink. Inside his skull, Ella was screaming, her voice a jagged blade cutting through the static of his subconscious.

*Left! Look left, you idiot! The guy with the scar is reaching for his sleeve!*

Silas tilted his head slightly, a lazy, arrogant movement. He didn't look left. He just stared at the Duke with those cold, dead eyes that made everyone in the room want to crawl out of their skin.

*I said look left! He's got a needle! A mana-suppressant needle!*

"Is something the matter?" the Duke asked, his voice dripping with fake concern. "You've been awfully quiet tonight. Not like the Tyrant I know."

Ella felt the surge of Silas's annoyance. It was like a wave of oily heat. He wasn't listening to her—or rather, he was enjoying the fact that she was panicking.

*You want to die? Is that it? Because if you do, I'm stuck in a corpse!*

Silas finally moved. He didn't look at the assassin.