The silence in the ballroom wasn't just quiet; it was heavy, like a wet blanket soaked in kerosene. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the spark.
Princess Astrid of the Northern Hegemony stood there like a dark monument of destruction. Her armor, forged from that cursed Vantablack steel, seemed to drink the light from the chandeliers, making her look like a shadow that had finally grown a pair of teeth. And she was pointing that massive, jagged claymore directly at my hiding spot.
"Elara Vance!" Astrid's voice didn't just echo; it rattled the champagne flutes. "I know you're back there, playing God with this 'Trash' prince. Come out and face the consequences of your fraud!"
