“I don’t forget it, Seraphina. Not a moment of it. And neither do you.” He drew closer, and she could not stop the step she took backward, toward the windowsill overlooking all London—the city that bowed to him as she once had. She took a deep breath, refusing to let him intimidate her. And he did not intimidate. He did something much worse. He reached for her, his fingers playing gently down the column of her neck, barely there, a whisper that she should have been able to ignore. “You think I do not remember you well enough to see it? You think I did not see the memories assault you when you
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