Seven days had passed since Leo had walked out of the forest with a small army at his back.
A full week of waiting. A week of planning. And, of course, a week of indulgence.
Leo lay sprawled across a velvet chaise longue in the center of the penthouse suite of The Gilded Griffin. The room was a masterpiece of excess—thick carpets that swallowed your feet, gold-leafed furniture, and a balcony that offered a panoramic view of the entire city of Auravale.
It was the best room in the city, owned by the Silver Route, and currently occupied by the man who intended to burn the city's leadership to the ground.
But at this exact moment, Leo didn't look like a revolutionary. He looked like a pampered emperor.
His head was resting in the soft, warm lap of Belladonna. The Bandit Queen was humming a low tune, her fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. In her other hand, she held a bunch of chilled, purple grapes.
