The small victory felt like a lead weight in my stomach. The crowd's shock had given way to a new, more dangerous kind of attention. I could feel their eyes on me, not with pity or contempt anymore, but with a sharp, calculating interest. I was no longer just a spectacle; I was a player. And players made enemies.
Eliot, sensing the shift, moved closer. "My lord," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "The balcony. The air. It would be a wise move to remove yourself from the center of the room."
He was right. The center of the ballroom was a killing floor, and I had just made myself the biggest target. A moment of solitude, a chance to breathe, was not a luxury; it was a necessity. I gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, and we began to move, weaving through the clusters of gossiping nobles. The whispers followed us like a shadow, a constant, hissing commentary on my every move.
