Previously…
Luther had confronted Lenora with charm and flare, the usual theatrics. He leaned in, voice calm enough to bruise.
"You're wasted on Lucien. If he were here, would he even acknowledge your contributions? You're holding up the entire war effort in his name."
Her eyes glinted, cool as obsidian.
"And you think I should join you? Share your throne of delusions? Please. I've got more ambition in my fingernail than your entire lineage."
He only chuckled, too used to flattery to know when it was being weaponised. "That's why we'd work. We're alike, you and I. Ruthless. Hungry."
She stepped closer, voice like silk stretched over steel. "No, Luther. The difference is—I'll burn everything, including myself, to win. You just want to inherit the ashes."
She turned on her heel, robes swishing behind her like the closing of a courtroom door.
Now…
Back in her chambers, silence closed in—thick, breathing, heavy with expectation.
