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Something clenched inside me. It was as if he had just ripped off a veil, and even the walls of this hall now knew who I was.
Selina, Rachel, finally tore her gaze away from Elianora and looked at me, lifting her chin. Her smile thinned to near transparency, and her emerald eyes flashed.
— Michael… — she drawled, and that same venomous mockery I remembered from the old world rang in her voice. — That worthless coward who used to tremble like a little rabbit at the board… a prince by blood? Ah, the world really does have a sense of humor.
I clenched my teeth, feeling a wave of anger rise inside. Rachel, now Selina, who seemed the worst version of Rachel, stood before me bathed in elven haughtiness, and her entire being embodied the sarcasm I had hated back in the school corridors.
— More respect for His Highness, — Elianora said evenly, without hesitation, and her voice rang in such a way that not a single crack could be heard in it.
She sat straight, chin slightly lifted, as if noble blood itself had given her posture. But I saw: her nails dug a little deeper into the fabric of her skirt. That was not the gesture of a refined lady. That was David, holding back the urge to roar in Rachel—Selina’s—face the way he would have in the old world.
Selina tilted her head slightly, and her lips curved into a smile.
— Oh, how touching, — she purred, and her voice rang like a thin string. — You defend his honor so deftly, Lady Wortwing. As if a future… wife. — The last word landed with deliberate emphasis, like a needle plunged into skin.
Silence struck louder than any shout.
Selina couldn’t resist, realizing she had hit right on target; a quiet chuckle slipped from her lips. She leaned forward slightly, her hair slipping over her shoulder, emerald eyes boring into Elianora.
— And who are you, Miss Perfection? Monica? Angela? Or maybe my best friend Brandy… Although no, — Selina bit her lip for a second, just like back then during her taunts, and her smile sharpened. — You’re definitely not Brandy. She would never defend this "prince" and certainly couldn’t play the 'little princess' so well.
I felt it all going too far and with every fiber of my being wanted to protect Elianora, David, but the moment I opened my mouth, as if knowing my impulse, she raised her hand. It was a light but sharp movement, honed to perfection.
— Don’t, Mike, — her voice came out unexpectedly firm. Not a trace of haughtiness, not a scrap of affectation. In it stepped that same David I remembered: blunt, harsh, sometimes too rude.
— But David, she’s— — I blurted, but Elianora turned so sharply that the hem of her black dress flared up like the wing of that raven on the tapestry. Her eyes cut into me with an icy stare and for a moment she was not Lady Wortwing, but my friend, ready to sock me on the shoulder for saying one careless word.