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“But, your lovely hair.”
“If you are that attached to it, it is on the floor of the salon. Oh, can you settle the bill for me? They wanted me to pay, but I don’t have any local currency.”
“Of course. I will make sure to settle this.”
Myele whimpered, “Your Majesty, she has threatened us.”
Ven turned her food, and she turned to Myele. “I thought I told you to remain quiet.” She opened her mouth, exposed fangs that an alpha would claim and roared in Myele’s face. The other kitchen staff whimpered and tried to pack themselves into the corner.
Ven remained in control, and she returned to the food. When she finished, she turned off the stove, got a plate, and loaded it with the cooked bird. She turned to the head cook. “Shall I clean the pan?”
“No, miss. We will take care of the pan and the entrails.”
“Oh. That’s nice. Have a nice day... oh, and Myele.”
The woman sobbed. “Yes?”
“Don’t fuck with me again.”
Syar blinked and grinned, stepping aside as she walked past him to the dining room. She sat at the table and started eating.
Reynaldo muttered, “Holy shit.”
Syar walked up to her. “I am going to find out what happened at the salon.”
“Good. If you find one drop of malice in what they did to me, I am going there next. Also, grey nails aren’t my colour. Is there anywhere I can get this done properly?” She shrugged. “After the bleeding stops.”
Syar blinked. “Bleeding?”
“Cuticle butchery. Easy to avoid as my natural nails were white, and these blend in.”
He grabbed her left hand and examined it. There, against the grey of her skin, were stripes of blood that had emerged after she had washed her hands.
“Why?”
She picked up another piece of meat and kept eating. The pieces were jagged. “My guess is that I am unworthy as I am not stunning, elegant, or royal. They need to punish me so I don’t forget where I belong. Women are nasty.”
“What did you use to cut that bird?”
“My claws.”
“Ah. I will be right back. Keep eating.” Syar kissed the top of her head, but it didn’t smell like her.
He ran to the salon and saw a group of four women standing around the desk. “Which one of you cut her hair?”
The stylist put her hand up. “Lady Myele said she needed to be shorn according to tradition for trying to get into your bed.”
The other two standing there nodded.
The receptionist stuttered, “She said she was a gold digger, and we needed to be efficient but make her regret coming here.”
Syar was stunned. “Not one of you thought to double-check before you butchered her beautiful soft hair?”
The stylist went grey. “She... isn’t someone trying to guilt you into accepting her?”
Venetia’s voice rang out from behind him. “No. I am not. And, now, I am going to return the services you gave me earlier. Down to every cuticle cut and bruise on my face. Oh, and your hair, of course. That has to go.”
The stylist said, “I was following orders from the residence.”
