The synchronized gasp that echoed through the ballroom was loud enough to rival the music. Silk fans flew upward in an instant, a hundred pairs of eyes widening behind painted lace as high society collectively lost its mind.
Time seemed to freeze
Yerel stood completely frozen, his arms still slightly extended from his perfectly rehearsed invitation. But the pristine white-and-gold imperial uniform that had looked so majestic a second ago was now completely ruined. Dark, sticky, sweet sparkling juice dripped steadily down the center of his chest, soaked into the gold embroidery of his collar, and slowly trailed down his jaw.
For one horrifying second, the future ruler of the empire looked less like a glorious sun god and more like a deeply offended fruit basket.
Cherion, however, didn't have time to appreciate his masterpiece.
He immediately sucked in a sharp, dramatic gasp, his eyes widening as he looked at the sticky disaster dripping down the prince's face.
