Chapter 23 · Forbidden Feast

"Smile, Ivy. Or they'll start wondering why the Forbidden King's favorite toy looks like she's walking to the gallows."

Silas’s voice was a low vibration against my ear, his hand tightening on the small of my back. He didn't just hold me; he steered me, his palm hot through the thin silk of my dress, marking me as his property before we even hit the double doors of the Great Hall.

"I'm not a toy," I hissed, my teeth clenched. "And I'm definitely not smiling for a room full of people who would love to see me skinned alive."

"That's the point," he murmured, a dangerous edge to his tone. "Let them want it. It makes the fear taste better."

He shoved the doors open. The sound of a hundred conversations died instantly. It wasn't a gradual fade; it was a crash. The Great Hall was a cavern of obsidian and gold, lit by floating braziers that cast long, flickering shadows. At the center, a feast table groaned under the weight of roasted meats and blood-red wines, but nobody was eating. They were all staring at me.

I felt the weight of their gaze like physical pressure.