BELLATRIX'S PARLOR - THREE HOURS BEFORE EXECUTION
Tiberon closed the door behind him.
"Gavriel Sterling is dying."
Bellatrix turned a page. "Yes. I heard."
"He is dying from dark magic that was seeded into his body before the matebond was formed. His healers are unable to identify the origin. His organs are failing. His eyes have gone dark. He has two days."
Another page. "That does sound dire."
Tiberon studied her. The study was thorough, the kind of assessment he usually reserved for foreign diplomats and enemy commanders, aimed now at the woman he had married thirty years ago and had understood for approximately zero of them.
"Your son's best friend. Your son's age. A boy who ate at our table, trained in our yard, bled for our house. And your face has yet to move."
Bellatrix's hand paused on the page. The pause lasted one second. Then she turned it.
