Then came the wave.
Nobles began to drift toward them, more emboldened than before.
They came singly at first—then in pairs, then in small flocks, each one eager to make their introduction.
Eiravyne stiffened, an old fear prickling just beneath the surface.
She remembered this—this exact moment. Ilkar had danced with her too, once, in another glittering hall .
But when the nobles surged forward to him, he had given her a cool smile, whispered something about mingling, and slipped into the crowd.
She had stood alone.
Tonight, her breath caught—until she felt Urag's hand still firmly on the small of her back.
A baroness dipped into a curtsy. "Your Grace, may I say—"
Urag didn't shift away. Instead, he adjusted subtly, ensuring Eiravyne remained half-sheltered behind the breadth of his shoulder.
His presence was enough to force the noblewoman to keep a polite distance.
Eiravyne glanced up at him.
He met her eyes and said under his breath, "I'm not going anywhere."
