The Price of Power

"Let me make this clear—I don't like you," Lucas said, his voice carrying that particular brand of disdain I'd grown familiar with.

We stood facing each other in the Academy's practice arena, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the reinforced stone floor. Liliana had left just minutes ago, but not before making sure her little performance had the desired effect. I'd caught the tail end of her whispered conversation with Lucas—probably something about how I'd been inappropriate with her, or disrespectful, or whatever narrative would get him fired up enough to want my head on a platter.

The way she'd looked at me afterward had been particularly galling. Those wide, innocent eyes, the perfectly timed blush, the subtle way she'd positioned herself so Lucas would see her as the helpless maiden and me as the villain. It was textbook manipulation, executed with the kind of precision that came from years of practice.

Clever little actress.