"Are you going to sleep again?! Move your ass!"
It was Carina.
Standing by the doorway, hands on her hips, one stiletto short, and a fire in her eyes hot enough to melt steel and pride in equal measure.
Viktoriya blinked up at her, groggy and disbelieving, as she picked up the offending shoe.
"You threw this at me?!" she gasped, holding it like a murder weapon. "What if it pierced my head like a melon?!"
"I will grind your head like a melon if you don't start moving," Carina snapped, snatching the shoe back with all the grace of a war general reclaiming a weapon.
Without missing a beat, she turned on her heel and barked another command. "Viktoriya. Up. We need to fix that attitude—and your hair."
"I was born like this," Viktoriya muttered rebelliously as she slowly rose, the picture of reluctant nobility.
"And you'll die like this if you don't move," Carina shot back, striding away like a woman with no patience and nothing left to lose.
