Leah
Kaelen’s hand settled at the small of my back, warm and sure, guiding me into the first slow turn of the waltz. The orchestra’s strings swelled around us, rich and liquid, pulling the entire ballroom into their orbit. I should have fought him—shoved him away, reclaimed the space between us—but my body betrayed me. My wolf purred, loud and shameless, as though every cell recognized the rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
Then a sharp, venomous hiss sliced through the music.
My newly sharpened hearing—courtesy of the Dowager’s blessing—caught it instantly, even from across the crowded floor.
Ella’s voice, low and furious, aimed at Martha like a thrown knife.
“It’s impossible! That backwoods nobody suddenly knows every courtly trick overnight? An ugly girl stealing the spotlight—b
