Elena
I remained seated at the breakfast table long after Giovanni left, my grip tightening around the goblet in my hand.
Something had shifted.
I had felt it the moment I entered the hall—the subtle change in the air, the way Giovanni’s eyes lingered on me just a second too long, the deliberate weight of his words.
I had the most interesting conversation with my brother last night.
It was a warning. A calculated move to make me uneasy.
And damn it, it was working.
I forced my expression to remain neutral as I took another slow sip of wine. Around me, nobles continued their conversations, oblivious to the silent war brewing beneath the surface.
Had I miscalculated?
No. That wasn’t possible.
Everything I had done so far had been meticulous—carefully placed words, strategic allianc
