Hazel’s POV
The second I stepped through those massive dining-hall doors, the entire room went dead quiet.
Every single head turned.
Every. Single. One.
I could feel their eyes like lasers—nobles, advisors, guards, servants, all of them frozen mid-bite, mid-sentence, mid-breath. Silverware hovered. The only sound left was the soft click of my heels on the marble floor and the faint rustle of my red gown.
And oh, what a gown it was.
Crimson silk that hugged every curve, slit high on one thigh, neckline low enough to make a nun faint. It screamed power. It screamed I don’t give a single f**k what you think. Martha had tried to talk me into something softer, something “appropriate.” I’d laughed in her face and told her to bring me the boldest thing in the wardrobe.
From what she’d told
