Lycina’s POV

Lyria’s humiliating exit, her stained dress, her tears, the whispers that followed. I should feel satisfied, knowing her own trick backfired, and of course, I’m very much satisfied.

I excused myself and Theron did too as he followed me and stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets.

“Lycina,” he says, his voice cold, cutting through the quiet. “Lyria’s clothes from dinner. You need to wash them.”

What? The black magic Lyria used on him still has its claws in him, ...