Page 41 of Reign

My attention hovers over my plate, my eyes scraping in much the same way my knife did as I look across the table and meet Sabine’s question with a direct stare. “None whatsoever.”

Sabine responds with a closed-mouthed smile, returning to her dinner with dainty, calculated bites.

She doesn’t take her eyes off me.

A sharp jab to my thigh severs the animosity holding me taut. To further enunciate his point, Tempest clears his throat and shifts his ass in his seat, as if I can’t catch his thoroughly subtle way of telling me to stop trying to eviscerate Sabine with my stare.

“I assume exams went well?” my father asks, seated beside Sabine and looking to anyone else who bothers to duck into the dining room that he’s enjoying dinner with his family.

“Fine,” I bite out.

Even if they didn’t, the Noble King would never let his son fail on paper. My exams are likely being doctored as we speak.

“They went okay,” Emma murmurs beside me.

I stiffen at her voice. She hasn’t spoken since we were forced into the penthouse and asked to sit down for a fake-ass family dinner. And unlike me, her exams won’t be forged. She’s left with whatever she worked hard enough to achieve—a notion I doubt will ever resonate with dear Dad.

Yet here she is, seated in front of the woman who tried to end her life and pretending like school matters. What Emma went through —what she hid from me—boils my blood to demon spawn levels, but rather than directing my barely contained ire at my sister, I’d rather fuse it into my father. He’s marrying a murderess. Binding himself to a woman who spites his own children, yet he doesn’t bat an eye.

I eviscerate whatever food’s left in my mouth, then shove my plate away. “Are we finished with this charade?”

“Son,” Father intones. “Try to keep your temper at a minimum. We have guests.”

“You mean your fiancée?” The title sits gluttonous, slippery with fat, on my tongue. “Or the dude who’s spent every Christmas with us since he was in diapers?”

“Are you calling me a mooch, fucktard?” Tempest asks, cocking his head with a smarmy grin. I know what he’s doing, but I refuse to let him diffuse the situation before I fuck it up royally.

“I’m not doing this,” I grind out. “Pretending all is well when—”

“Chase.” Emma’s hand clamps down on my wrist, keeping me from rising.

Her nails bite into my skin, but I welcome the pain and her sincere reminder that I shouldn’t storm from the table, earning a pissy lecture from my father later, and more importantly, signaling to Sabine that I’m anything but defeated.

Protect Callie won’t leave my head. I can’t very well do that if I don’t have my eye on Sabine at all times during the academy’s break. Even during an innocuous holiday dinner, Sabine could be laying a foundation with my father or concocting future plans involving Callie’s demise. The bitch never rests, and neither should I.

“Perhaps we should change the subject,” Sabine says. “How was everyone’s day?”

My lips twist at the same time Tempest says, “Tolerable. Christmas cheer usually makes me sociopathic.” Tempest pauses. Grins subtly. Sabine doesn’t react, keeping her expression remote while she angles her head with pretend interest. Tempest continues, “But I controlled myself this year and joined Emma to see the tree at Rockefeller.”

“Interesting. You all must’ve seen it millions of times before.” Sabine picks up her fork, but before she bites down, she pins me with a look and asks, “Did you all go?”

She’s searching for a tell. Any indication that I nearly broke my frozen balls off ducking and diving into blind spots and traffic every time Callie looked over her shoulder rather than join the masses of tourists in snapping pictures of a giant tree with a bunch of lightbulbs on it.

“We did,” Emma says, her voice barely above a whisper. A worm of guilt inches its way into one of the many holes in my heart. Here is my sister whose every minute is strangled the longer she’s forced to dine with Sabine, and I was about to smash my plate to pieces and leave her here.

“Don’t you know, Sabine?” I ask. “It’s a different tree every year. Thus, I’d argue a new experience every time we go.”

“Indeed,” Sabine says. She draws in another bite, chewing thoughtfully.

I take that as a sign this inane conversation is finished with, thank fuck, but she draws my attention as she sucks on the tines of the fork. “I wonder if Callie took the time to see the tourist spectacle today as well?”

My father stiffens beside her. “Darling,” he chastises. “Not today.”

Emma audibly swallows beside me. I wonder if her twin sense is attuned to the lightning bolt shooting down my spine as I ask, “Why not, Father? You two have won, haven’t you? She’s no longer a threat to the societies.”

My father’s hooded gaze meets mine in warning. “And no longer of interest to you, either, so I suggest we move on from Calla Lily Ryan.”

“Oh, I’m far from interested.” My fork lands on my plate with a clink and I lean back in my seat. “I’ve shunned, humiliated, lied, and cheated her. Have I missed anything, Em?”

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