Not replicas. Not copies. My original paintings—the ones I’d hidden in the attic years ago. Every brushstroke, every flawed edge, every shadow. Mine.
She’d stolen them. All of them.
My claws itched to tear through silk and skin. I was already stepping forward when the hall doors burst open.
Kael’s Beta strode in, carrying gifts—designer tools, moonstone brushes, gemstones, and embroidered gowns. All for Elowen.
Applause rose like a wave. I felt like I was drowning beneath it.
I stumbled out to the balcony, the cool air slicing through the haze of fury.
Moments later, she followed.
“Still breathing?” she asked sweetly. “Pity your mother isn’t.”
My vision went white. “Elowen—”
Before I could finish, she gasped, threw her wine down her dress, and screamed.
“Lyra! How could you?!”
I froze. People rushed out, gasping. And then Kael was there—his gaze sharp, his voice cold.
“Enough!”
Something inside me cracked. I smiled—a dead, bitter thing—and poured my own drink over her, splattering red wine down her face.
“That’s for mocking my mother, you venomous thief.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd as I turned and walked away, my heels striking like gunfire.