The insides of a ball

KYRA

Dinner was served with all the ceremony the palace loved so much, golden plates, crystal cups, and courses that seemed endless, but I barely touched any of it.

The steak in front of me was perfectly cooked, red juices beneath it, but every time I picked up my knife, my mind wandered to places it absolutely shouldn't. I imagined driving that blade straight into Eve's throat, watching that triumphant little smile freeze forever. Then I'd turn to Zyran, catch him off guard, and sink it deep before he could react.

Of course, I would barely make it halfway across the table before a dozen guards. Even the Alphas themselves had knives in my back. And Eve? She'd probably sit there the whole time, smiling triumphantly over my dead body. No, that fantasy wasn't worth the mess.

I gripped the knife harder, sawing at the meat without really cutting it. The man seated beside me noticed. He had with a pale golden hair, and his golden mask pushed up on his nose. He leaned in, sounding slightly