Zyren had left with his guards, the heavy double doors swinging shut behind them. The moment the oppressive weight of his presence faded, the tension in the hall became a living, breathing thing—sharp enough to slice through skin. Those who had lingered too long were suddenly reminded of urgent business elsewhere. Chairs scraped against the polished floor as a few vampires rose to their feet, eager to vanish before whatever storm was brewing broke loose.
Lady Vivian, however, did not move with haste. She stood at the far end of the long banquet table, her posture regal yet brimming with lethal intent. Her eyes—dark and glinting with barely restrained fury—were locked on one target. Aria.
Aria, who sat comfortably in her chair, eating as though the hall wasn't charged with hostility. She speared a tender slice of meat with her fork, her smile as bright as a spring morning, utterly unbothered by the predator across the room.
