Lena’s hand stilled on her napkin.
My mother made a small, strangled noise.
I smiled.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that you overestimate how much control you have over him.”
He blinked.
“He listens to me,” Victor said. “He respects the alliance.”
“He respects usefulness,” I corrected. “Just like you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Be careful, Aria,” he said. “Just because you share his bed—”
“I don’t,” I cut in.
They all stared.
Lena’s brows crept upward. “What?”
My face burned, but I kept my gaze steady.
“He doesn’t touch me,” I said. “Not the way you imply. So if you’re counting on me ‘warming his bed’ to keep your position secure, you should probably reconsider your strategy.”
Victor’s expression shifted. Not to pity or concern—he had no such settings—but to calculation. To t
