Page 87 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

We’ll have to find another way.

We’ll have to make our own rules in this game of ice and fire.

“No, no,” Vazor says for what feels like the hundredth time later that afternoon. “The greeting must be precise. The angle of your head, the depth of your curtsy, the exact words—they all convey meaning at court.”

I straighten from my latest attempt at a proper court greeting, trying not to show how my thighs burn from all thecurtsying. Beside me, Izzy looks equally frustrated, though she perks up when Rhaela steps forward to demonstrate again.

“Watch carefully,” Rhaela says, her voice gentler than her fierce appearance would suggest. “The depth of the curtsy indicates rank. Too shallow is an insult, too deep marks you as inferior.” She demonstrates, her movements liquid grace. “For a duke or duchess, this depth.”

Izzy copies her almost perfectly, and I bite back a smile. Amazing what proper motivation can do for one’s learning curve.

“Better,” Vazor acknowledges. “Now, the proper forms of address. Lady Lara, imagine I am Prince Jonyk. Greet me.”

My stomach clenches at the mere thought of the prince.

I force myself into the starting position Rhaela showed us, keeping my spine straight despite the urge to hunch protectively. “Your Royal Highness,” I begin, lowering myself into what I hope is the correct depth of curtsy. “I am honored by?—”

“Stop.” Vazor’s voice cracks like a whip. “Your eyes dropped too low. That shows fear or submission. You must maintain exactly the correct level of eye contact—enough to show respect without challenging authority.”

From his position near the window, Ivrael makes a sound of frustration. Frost spreads across the glass near his hand. “They’ll never be ready in time.”

“We’re trying,” I snap, my own frustration bubbling over. “Maybe if you’d given us more time to learn your impossible rules?—”

“Impossible?” Golden sparks flash in his eyes. “These are basic court protocols that every noble child learns from birth. Any ten-year-old can execute them perfectly.”

“Well, I’m sorry we didn’t have the advantage of being raised in your perfect Ice Court,” I shoot back. “We were too busy trying to survive our fucking stepfather.”

Harai and Rhaela exchange glances, while Vazor’s scales shimmer with what might be discomfort.

“Perhaps we should move on to table etiquette,” Harai suggests diplomatically. “That might be easier to master quickly.”

It isn’t.

The array of delicate crystal glasses and elaborate silver utensils—specially commissioned without iron content—makes my head spin. Each course apparently requires specific implements and using the wrong one can apparently spark a blood feud.

“No, that’s the moonfish knife,” Rhaela corrects gently when Izzy reaches for the wrong utensil. “This is sunfish, which is served in the first course. You’d use that knife for the fourth course, after the cold soup but before the main dish.”

“Why do you need different knives for different fish?” Izzy asks. “They’re all just... fish.”

I watch Vazor’s eyes narrow at her tone and cringe inwardly. We’re supposed to be accepting everything without question, showing proper deference to our instructors. But Izzy’s analytical mind keeps wanting to understand the logic behind these byzantine rules.

“The distinction is crucial,” Vazor says coldly. “Using a moonfish knife on sunfish would be seen as a deliberate insult to your host’s judgment in menu planning.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Izzy mutters, not quite under her breath.

Ice crystals form in the air as Ivrael strides forward. “Perhaps you’d prefer some other means of compelling your compliance? Since our customs are so beneath your understanding?”

The threat in his voice makes my blood run cold. I step forward, placing myself slightly in front of my sister. “She’s just trying to understand. We both are.”

“Understanding isn’t required,” he snaps. “Obedience is.”

The words hit me hard, reminding me of my year as his servant. Of every time he demanded unquestioning compliance. Of every moment I spent hating him for it.

Of the way he spanked me the first time I tried to run away.

From the way he’s staring at me, his eyes twirling with those golden sparks, he’s remembering it, too.

The twins exchange a glance, and Harai clears her throat delicately.

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