"I thought you said that you would bring me Daphne Molinero by the end of this week," Eugene Attonson said with a vicious smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Instead, I find rumors floating around the streets that your beloved baby sister has been spreading her legs for anyone who has a third leg."
He lay leisurely on the fainting couch, a woman standing behind him, massaging his temples. Alistair noticed, with acute observation, that the woman had a huge scar running across her wrist. The skin color of her hand and the rest of her arm and body were vastly different. Yet, it blended together nearly perfectly, like milk poured into tea.
"Then you should understand that the palace has been in an uproar since Duke Lanperouge's birthday celebration," Alistair plainly said. He had to expend much effort just to tear his gaze away from the woman's wrist so that he could meet Eugene's eyes. "Daphne is the least of my concerns."
