Kyllian's hand flexed around his glass, a silent rehearsal of how easily he could slam it into Damien's face.
He stood still, not because he lacked a response. Not because the urge to plant his fist into the vampire's aristocratic jaw wasn't white-hot. But because Luna was still in the room, and this was not the place, nor the time. Not at her party. Not on the day she was finally laughing again.
A young server tripped over the edge of a rug while balancing a tray of wine glasses. The collective gasp from the nearby guests was immediate, and one unfortunate glass of red wine flew from the tray.
It struck Luna.
A splash of crimson stained the front of her dress in a tragic arc. Luna looked down at the mess, blinked, and exhaled a slow breath through her nose.
"Well," she said with admirable composure, "I guess this dress had a death wish."
The poor server looked like he might pass out. "Your Highness, I…I'm so sorry! I didn't mean…"
