Lana

The glass of warm milk trembled in my hands, its comforting heat doing nothing to ease the ice spreading through my veins. 

Steam rose in delicate spirals that seemed to writhe like spirits desperate to escape, dissolving into the oppressive air that had settled between Veronica and me.

Her voice slithered through the silence with the precision of a blade wrapped in velvet.

"They say Evelyn never married Count Mortayne for love."

The words struck me like a physical blow, settling in my ...