The heavy oak doors of Evelina's suite didn't just open; they were thrown back with a violent bang that shook the stone frames of the mansion. Lucius, who had been sitting in a deathly, predatory silence by Evelina's bedside, didn't flinch. He didn't even turn his head. His hand remained wrapped around the cold, iron handle of the secret trunk he had pulled from beneath the bed. His knuckles were white, his grip tight enough to snap the metal.
Minister Silas stepped into the room, his face flushed with a deep, ugly shade of crimson. Behind him, Lady Elena hovered like vulture. Elena's eyes were darting around the room, looking for anything she could use as leverage, while her expression shifted between a fake, watery-eyed distress and a smug satisfaction that she couldn't quite hide.
