EMILIA’S POV

His eyes.

Cold, unfeeling, hard as stone.

They cut into me the moment I registered who stood before me, and my breath stilled in my chest. My pulse pounded violently in my ears, every instinct screaming for me to run—but my body refused. It was him. My father.

I should have expected this.

“What do you want?” I demanded, my voice sharp, laced with venom. I refused to cower. Not for him. Not anymore.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pointed a finger at me, the gesture like a dagger aimed straight at my chest. “You better not tell the King anything, Emilia. Not one damn word....