A wine glass slipped from Lord Hemwick's fingers. The crystal shattered against stone, red liquid spreading like blood across pale marble.
The portly noble didn't notice. His eyes were locked on the entrance.
Lady Rosalind's fan clattered to the ground. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound emerged from her mouth.
A young baron's hand froze halfway to his mouth, a grape suspended between fingers that had forgotten their purpose. The fruit dropped, rolled across the table, and disappeared into the grass.
The musicians' instruments fell silent mid-note. A violinist's bow scraped to a halt. A flutist's breath caught in her throat. Even the drummer's hands stilled, hovering, wondering if playing was the best idea right now.
Words hung suspended in the air like ghosts, half-formed thoughts that would never reach completion.
