The moment Charlotte heard the word "bonfire" a cold alarm seized her heart.
"Bonfire?" She shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. "What bonfire are you talking about?!"
But Marcus didn't even glance at her. He simply nodded, and immediately, a group of well-dressed servants scurried forward with armfuls of timber logs.
They began stacking the wood beneath the stake, arranging it in careful layers around Mika's feet.
Charlotte's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
"No." She breathed. Then, louder, desperate: "NO, NO, DON'T YOU DARE! I SWEAR TO GOD, DON'T DO THIS! DON'T!!!"
She threw herself at the nearest servant, trying to push him away, but it was useless.
The man didn't even acknowledge her existence.
Even these the waiters and attendants serving the gala were far from innocent victims.
They were minor officials, low-ranking bureaucrats, and ambitious climbers who craved Marcus's favor, desperate for a taste of the debauchery enjoyed by the elite.
