The Art of War at a Dinner TableSophia's POV

Power, I had learned in my first life, was never given. It was taken, piece by piece, from the hands of those too comfortable to notice it slipping away.

In my first life, I had nothing to take it with. No name, no lineage, no standing. I was a body to be used and discarded, a ghost in the margins of other people's stories. But this life had given me something my last one never had — a table. A room. A title. And the particular, dangerous kind of ...