The last of the courtiers finally filtered out, their polite laughter fading down the corridor, leaving behind a silence so profound it felt like a solid thing.
I stood in the middle of the now-empty hall, the silver embroidery of the gown itching against my skin.
Every muscle felt coiled tight, ready for a fight that hadn't started yet.
Eliot appeared at my elbow, his presence a quiet anchor in the sea of my own exhaustion. "My lord," he said, his voice low.
He didn't offer platitudes about the feast or the ceremony. He just waited, giving me a moment to gather the tattered remains of my composure.
"I know," I said, cutting him off before he could offer whatever piece of wisdom he had prepared. "My duty awaits."
He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. There was no pity in his eyes, only a grim understanding.
