RAVYN'S POV
"It's... hair dye," I said, forcing a smile that wobbled like a flame in the wind.
My voice trembled, soft and uncertain, nearly lost beneath the hush that swept through the hallway. Whispers bloomed like weeds in a garden—quick, invasive, impossible to ignore. I could feel their stares pressing into my back, sharp and accusing.
They were judging me.
Not him—for trespassing into a space forbidden to men—but me. Me, for being here. Me, for having white hair. Me, for daring to breathe in the same corridor as a prince while wearing nothing but a bath towel.
As though I knew a man would be here. As though I'd planned this. As though I wanted his attention.
The injustice of it all settled like a brick in my chest.
"It's beautiful," he murmured.
