Penelope POV
"Your Excellency... have mercy... I was wrong..."
Tallulah whispers the words through a throat full of fluid. She lies on the ruined Persian rug in the center of the Silvermoon Salon.
I do not move. I do not blink.
The velvet drapes around the room are torn. Glass from smashed wine bottles litters the floor. The air smells of spilled champagne, sweat, and copper.
Lady Judson stands over Tallulah. Her breathing is loud, heavy, and wet. Her knuckles are split and dripping red onto her own ruined silk cuffs.
Tallulah looks up at me. One of her eyelids is swollen shut, purple and shiny. The other eye rolls in its socket, trying to find my face. Her hair is plastered to her forehead with spilled Merlot.
I count three steps forward. The heels of my boots click against the har
