Chapter 8 · Back to the Ruins

"Get your filthy hands off my chair!"

I didn't scream. I hissed. The words cut through the hall like a razor.

Lord Julian—or the fraud who’d spent three years pretending to be the head of House Valerius—didn't even flinch. He stayed leaned back in the master throne, boots resting right on the velvet armrest I’d spent my childhood polishing. He smirked, swirling a glass of amber wine.

"Alice," he drawled. "I heard you were dead. I almost sent flowers. Almost."

I didn't stop. My heels clicked against the marble—steady, predatory. I stopped two feet from him. The air was thick with old dust and his cloying, expensive cologne.

"Flowers would've been a nice touch," I said, my voice dropping. "Too bad you're the one out of time."

Julian laughed. A dry, grating sound. He slid off the throne and stood, using every inch of his height to loom over me. He stepped closer. Too close. I could feel the heat radiating off his chest, nearly brushing my shoulder.

"You're shaking, little bird," he whispered. He reached out, cold fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "What's the matter?