Inside the ballroomside the ballroom, golden candlelight flickered across the marble floors and shimmered on the crystal chandeliers above.
Music swelled—soft strings and lilting flutes—and nobles in polished silks and pressed uniforms filled the grand hall, their laughter and murmurs blending into a hum of celebration.
But when Eiravyne entered, on Urag's arm, the room didn't just quiet—it shifted.
Heads turned. Conversations stuttered. Even the musicians missed a note or two.
She looked radiant, even if her smile was a touch shy, her fingers lightly curled around Urag's sleeve.
The bracelet of woven flowers still clung to her wrist, and Urag leaned down slightly to murmur, loud enough only for her to hear:
"Should've seen their faces. They look like they've seen a goddess descend."
Urag dipped his head a little closer, just enough for his breath to tickle her ear as he whispered, voice thick with mischief:
