I watched until there was nothing left but embers and the faint smell of burned dreams. Then I turned away from the fireplace and walked to my writing desk, where a single envelope waited—cream-colored paper, no return address, sealed with gray wax.
Hector 'The Gray' Santini had promised me a way out.
Tonight, I would take it.
The decree came down when I had nearly ceased to feel anything at all.
In those final days before the alliance ceremony, the Family Council determined I should occupy Giorgio's chambers each night—a mandate dressed in silk and called "strengthening the bond between houses." I did not need to wonder whose lips had first shaped the suggestion. Silvia's reasoning had been delivered with practiced innocence, each word calibrated to sound like sisterly concern. As long as I complied, her private fittings for the ceremonial gown would appear entirely proper, and she could continue wearing the mask of the devoted blood-sister.
I offered no resistance.