Verona's gaze swept over them, a cold, clinical calculation running through her mind. First, Duke Vernhardt. He did not look like the man she had fled, the man who would purple with rage at the slightest defiance. His back was impossibly straight, his sallow skin smoothed over, and his eyes... they held a terrifying, vacant brilliance.
Behind him followed the line of her blood. Brion walked with a stiff, military gait, his eyes fixed on a point above Verona's head as if looking at her directly would cause him to crumble. Then came the twins, Rheo and Gheo, wearing identical, razor-thin smirks. They looked at the boutique's luxury not with admiration, but like it already belonged to them. Their eyes darted toward the silver-veined fabrics as if they were already counting the coins in their own pockets.
