King Atheron arranged the banquet seating like a chessboard, then placed Hajin directly across from the man who tortured him. Duke Flint cut his meat into neat squares and chewed each one as if nothing in the world ever changed.
"Table of honor, Baron of Ironwood and household," the steward announced, sweeping a white glove toward the chairs.
Chandeliers blazed over the marble hall, throwing light across silver platters and nobles whose smiles cost more than their jewels.
Every noble in the hall stared at the baron the way gamblers stared at a plainly limping horse. A few whispered behind their fans, certain that a Shard-less boy would be gone by the week's end.
"Why do I have to wear this?" Juna hissed, tugging at the neckline of a midnight-blue gown she plainly wanted to burn.
"You look incredible in it, Mutt," Hajin whispered back, straightening the strap that kept sliding off her shoulder.
"I look like a stuffed sausage."
