The table was eerily silent, all eyes on Celeste.
Even after Syzar’s cutting words—calling her nothing but his slave—she held herself with a quiet elegance that seemed to unsettle the room.
Her movements were smooth as she ate and drank, a picture of grace under pressure.
Nyssa broke the silence. “Well, at least you’re good for something here, slave. Come fill my cup.”
Humiliation burned through Celeste. “Yes, mistress,” she murmured, beginning to rise—but Maeve took her hand and pulled her back down.
“She is my guest tonight, attending as a princess of Crossvale. She will not be serving your drinks, Nyssa.”
Cassian let out a sharp scoff. Everyone turned.
“This is bullshit,” he snapped. “We’re not going to pretend the Orions didn’t ruin every life at this table. She stood by during
