Chapter 83 Burn The Crown

• Amara stood in the war room again, hours after the fire had scorched the villa and left another of Rafael’s loyal dogs in ashes. The night air drifted in through the open balcony, warm and scented with salt and smoke. Her black silk robe slid down one shoulder, exposing the bruises from where the man had thrashed beneath her blade before Lucien silenced him for good.
• The underworld was shifting. She could feel it in her bones. And it was time they crowned her with fire, or fell trying.
• Lucien leaned against the doorway, shirtless and scarred, sipping bourbon like it was just another day. But his eyes, those dangerous, storm-dark eyes, were locked on her with something more than lust. It was reverence. Hunger. Maybe fear.