The ballroom was a glittering sea of gold and silk, chandeliers dripping crystal teardrops overhead, the hum of conversation wrapping around me like gauze. Everywhere I looked, nobles floated like painted figures from some masterpiece, their laughter lilting, fans fluttering, eyes gleaming with something sharp beneath polite smiles.
I stood quietly at the fringes, the weight of my gown—a river of midnight-blue silk threaded with silver—dragging like chains at my feet. My gloved fingers curled around the stem of my glass, the cool surface sweating against my palm. Every few minutes, someone passed by to offer a nod or a too-sweet smile, but I kept my gaze low, careful, detached.
Tonight wasn't about me, after all.
Tonight was his night.
The birthday of Crown Prince Rahegar.
The air shifted, suddenly.