Hajin cut across the ballroom toward the refreshments, steering his bad shoulder clear of the crush near the dance floor.
Exile took his title and his household, yet his body still remembered lessons beaten into it before the departing wagon. He kept his chin level and counted every exit in the hall while each smiling guest drifted past without noticing.
'A straight back costs less than an explanation, as long as nobody decides to slap me on it.'
Juna stuck close to his injured side as a servant swept past them, offering glasses from a crowded tray.
"Wine?" he asked, plucking one up by the stem, "or do you want something the kitchen can't sneak grapes into?"
She sniffed the glass, wrinkled her nose, and looked straight past the servant at a platter steaming behind him.
"Food first."
"Not even pretending to be a lady for one minute?"
