Chapter 81

• I shift my arm to the side as Lucas adjusts his hold on me—his right arm curling possessively around my waist, ending with his hand splayed across my front. His left hand rests lazily on my thigh, the heat from his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of my dress. The Beasts lining up before us are slow and deliberate, their narrowed eyes flicking between him and me, silent judgments cast in their glares as they take in my intimate placement on the King’s lap.
• Laila, ever the polished thorn in my side, pretends I don’t exist. She continues to prattle about some upcoming performance in the city, her voice light and sweet, though it lacks the attention it clearly craves. Lucas doesn’t even grace her with a glance. His silence is cutting, more biting than any verbal dismissal, and after a few moments, Laila falters. Her voice dwindles into an awkward hush when it’s obvious her charms are wasted.
• Her eyes drop—trailing the path of Lucas’s fingers where they trace the seam of my dress—and her carefully composed face contorts with unmistakable disgust. I should feel self-conscious, but instead, jealousy coils inside me like a living thing, dark and satisfying. If it bothers her, then I’ll let him touch me longer. Let her see.