[Imperial Palace — Grand Ballroom — Continuation]
The music did not falter. It flowed—low, rich, unbroken—threading through the hall like something alive, something watching.
At the edge of the floor, Sharukh stood still, but not untouched. His gaze—again and again—found its way back to her.
Princess Seraphina.
Composed upon the dais, graceful and untouchable. And yet—not distant enough.
"You could simply ask."
The voice came from beside him, quiet and amused. Sharukh startled faintly, glancing toward Raevahn.
"…but she is the princess," he replied under his breath, as though that alone made the thought impossible.
Raevahn's lips curved—just slightly.
"A princess," he said, tone light but edged with something sharper, "who is not beyond being asked."
A pause, then—
"…or are Zahryssar men only fearless in battle?"
Sharukh's jaw tightened. "…That is not—"
"Then prove it."
A beat passed. Raevahn's voice lowered further.
