I settle deeper into the armchair, sinking into the plush leather, and survey the wreckage of the lounge with a look of smug satisfaction. "Mother, you don't seem very proud of me," I say, my voice mocking, a perfect echo of a petulant child seeking praise.
I snap my fingers—a sharp, imperious sound. Immediately, one of my bodyguards steps forward and offers me a pristine cigar and a cutter. I accept it, light it with practiced ease, and take a long, slow puff, the smoke curling upward, momentarily blurring my gaze before dissolving into the air.
"I have ended the war," I state, exhaling a perfect plume of white smoke. "And we have created an alliance."
Amelia doesn't respond with words. She sees the expensive crystal vase resting on the nearby console table, a treasured antique from her wedding day, and snatches it up.
