Christopher moved through the glittering crowd, tray balanced easily against his palm, the soft glow of phone screens and the whir of discreet cameras mixing with candlelight and crystal.
He'd done this before: private galas, high‑profile fundraisers, late‑night embassy dinners, blending in, making himself invisible as long as glasses stayed full and no one waited too long for anything. He could do this in his sleep.
And tonight, he needed to.
'Act normal. Just act normal.'
His dark eyes flicked, just once, toward the raised platform at the end of the hall, toward the man lounging with unshakable ease in a tailored midnight suit. Dax, King of Saha, didn't appear to be looking his way anymore. He was speaking to a cluster of foreign dignitaries, his hand idly resting on the arm of his chair, a faint smile playing on his mouth.
Not with hunger. Not with pursuit.
'Good. That's exactly what I want.'
