By dawn, the banquet had withered away into nothing but puddles of wine, burned-out candles, and servants tiptoeing like ghosts across the marble floor. And still—it clung to me. The noise, the glitter, the half-hidden barbs disguised as compliments. Shadows stuck to me, really, like smoke that refused to wash out of your clothes even after days.
I sat at my vanity, hairbrush dragging through the last stubborn tangles in what used to be curls. The mirror’s reflection said I looked calm, bored even—almost like someone waiting for her carriage. But inside? My thoughts weren’t calm. They rattled.
That shadow. The one who stood too still, on the very edge of the light. It hadn’t been a trick of the candles. I knew it. Gideon had seen the way my hand froze, and that was enough—he trusted me.
