CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Sitting beside Frederick, I realize he is all charm and mischief, not the storm I imagined from afar.
He leans close when I hesitate at an unfamiliar dish, whispering explanations with a teasing undertone.
His chuckle is soft, rich, dangerous enough to make my stomach flutter.
For the first time tonight, I feel… protected, in a subtle, thrilling way.
Yet, across the table, Adrian remains a statue of control, eyes sharp, unwavering.
Every time I glance toward him, his gaze slides away with calculated coldness.
No hint of comfort. No spark.
Just the weight of a king who doesn’t bend for anyone.
Then, queen Katerina, fixes me with a smile sharp enough to draw blood.
“So, Melissa,” she says, voice sweet but venomous,
“tell me… what kind of family are you from
