Eyes turned the second we crossed the threshold.
Whispers followed a breath behind.
I kept my chin high, my face carved from stone.
Let them talk. Let them wonder.
I was not here for a party.
Zander moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his hand grazing the small of my back once in a silent signal to follow.
I kept pace beside him, ignoring the way the nobles’ gazes snagged on me like I was a stain on their perfectly gilded world.
He began introducing me to clusters of nobles, their faces stiff and painted in courtly smiles that never quite reached their eyes.
“Lord Lerin of Solmia,” Zander said, inclining his head politely.
The man barely looked at me, his gaze sliding past as if I were a servant who had accidentally wandered into the hall.
“Lady Sora of Moustal,” Zander continued.
She dipped a shallow curtsy that felt more like mockery than respect, her painted lips curving into a condescending smile. “Charmed,” she said, though her eyes screamedunworthy.
We moved on.
“Lord Gerrin of Kruisaan,” Zander said, his voice poised, neutral.
Gerrin didn’t even pretend to hide the sneer twisting his mouth. “A lowborn rider. How... quaint.”
I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood.You’re here for information. Not revenge.
“And Lady Vessina of Thubia,” Zander finished, introducing a woman draped in layers of pale silk and dripping with enough jewels to fund a small army.
She gave me a slow, assessing look, then turned her back on me entirely, dismissing me like a bad smell.
Inderia’s gaze burned into my back as we moved through the room. I caught sight of her standing near one of the gildedcolumns, her gown shimmering like liquid rubies in the golden light.
She wasn’t pretending to hide her interest. Or her displeasure.
Neither were the other ladies, who ogled Zander openly as he passed, their stares lingering on the way his formal riding uniform clung to his frame—the same deep-black and silver as mine, the same high boots, the same laced tunic stitched with the dragon’s crest across his chest.
Even his betrothed.
Inderia’s gaze raked over him possessively, dark with something close to hunger.
It made my stomach twist.
Zander’s hand brushed mine lightly, a silent reassurance, before he steered us toward another cluster of gathered nobles.
At the center stood a woman so striking the entire room seemed to tilt toward her.
“This is Theron’s intended. Lady Belana of Prina,” Zander said.
She was beautiful in the way a winter storm was beautiful, dangerous, cold, and promising nothing but ruin. Her gown was a masterpiece of sapphire and silver, her black hair pinned high with diamond-encrusted combs.
Her smile when Zander introduced me was slow and cutting.
“How charming,” she said, her voice like iced wine. “A rider plucked straight from the gutter.”
