The predatory smile on Julian Vale's face sent ice through my veins. He stood blocking our escape path, his normally immaculate appearance now replaced by a coldly efficient stance. Six armed men flanked him—far more than we'd anticipated.
"Lady Isobel," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Or should I say, Duchess Isabella Thorne? Did you truly believe your little masquerade would fool me?"
Beside me, Elara trembled violently. I squeezed her hand, trying to project a confidence I didn't feel.
Alaric stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of us. "Vale. I see you've been expecting us."
"Indeed, Your Grace." Vale gestured casually to his men. "I've had my suspicions since your 'Lady Isobel' first arrived. Something about her seemed... familiar. I make it my business to know the nobility, you see, especially those who might take interest in my establishment."
