[Ann's POV]
Prince Zephyr walked toward Sir Ray and me, his steps measured and steady now, all trace of his earlier drunkenness erased. Around us, the crowd that had gathered to watch the drama at the scam stall was slowly dispersing, their attention already drifting toward the next distraction—a juggler down the lane, a pie-eating contest, the promise of the upcoming performer show. The festival's current receded, leaving our group in a small island of relative quiet.
The stall owner was attempting to apologize to Gale, his voice a nervous, stumbling stream of words. Gale's responses were clipped, monosyllabic, each one delivered with a flat glare that seemed to suck the warmth from the air. Lady Ovelia stood between them, her hands making small, soothing gestures as she tried to calm Gale down. Her voice was a soft, patient murmur, too low for me to catch the words.
