Before I could move, Camille tilted the glass. The cold, red wine poured over my head, soaking my hair and running down my face. It dripped onto my white apron, staining it forever.
The room went quiet. People started to turn and look. I stood there, frozen. The wine was cold and sticky. It got into my eyes, making them sting.
"There," Camille said, sitting back down and looking very pleased with herself. "Now you match the table."
I expected Kael to do something. I expected him to defend me—not because he loved me, but because I was his mate. But he just sat there. His face was like a mask of stone. He looked at me, covered in wine, and his expression didn't change.
"Clean it up, Elara," he said. His voice was flat. "And then get out of my sight. You are making a mess of my hall."
