Page 162 of Owned

The room was full, but the atmosphere felt wrong. The energy was strange.

The remnants of Lucian’s followers and Messana’s elite mingled like nervous cattle in a slaughterhouse.

Every smile seemed false, and their eyes darted too quickly.

They were frightened—terrified.

And Lucian reveled in it.

“She’s not here,” Valen said under his breath, eyes scanning the crowd.

“That’s obvious,” I snapped.

I knew where Avril was.

Locked in her cage.

At least she was safe.

But we hadn’t seen her since the rescue—hadn’t spoken to her.

She was in the house, but still out of our reach.

Her absence burned more than I wanted to admit.

The grand table stretched out before us, gleaming with polished silver and velvet drapes. Crystal chandeliers cast a ghostly light that bounced off the fragile smiles of the guests.

“They don’t look happy,” Bastian said in a low tone that sounded more amused than anything.

“Should they?” I hissed. “They all know what Lucian’s capable of.”

Bastian snorted. “As if they didn’t know before.”

The conversation was the same as it always was—trite and boring. But there was something else, too. I could hear the murmur of speculation about the wedding, and someone even dared to discuss the fates of the remaining members of theCouncil. They spoke in hushed tones, careful not to let their fear slip through the cracks.

Lucian stood near the bar and a table set with towers of exotic finger food. He held a glass of blood-red wine, but his pale eyes scanned the crowd of guests. His presence dominated the room, commanding attention with an aura that was both charismatic and lethal.

I wondered how he had managed to gather so many of his followers together at a time like this—so soon after the violent reckoning that had played out in the Spire's courtyard.

It was purposeful, of course.

A display of our power and nonchalance.

They had struck at the very heart of Lucian’s control—and he seemed untouched by it all.

Purposeful.

He raised his glass, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and tapped the blade of a blackened silver dagger against the side. The clear chime of it rang out over the hum of conversation, and the voices hushed almost instantly.

“My friends,” he said with a smooth smile that was equal parts menace and charm, “you have all been waiting for this news.” The crowd seemed to lean toward him—like moths to flame. He took a breath. “I am finally ready to announce— After far too long a delay, I shall, once again, be the happiest of men. In three days’ time, there will be a wedding at Withermarsh.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

It had seemed so far away—the finality of it.

But the months had swept by.

Bastian’s smile froze, and only the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed his shock. Valen’s face drained of color and his fingers tightened around the cut crystal glass in his hand.

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