The ball resumed, music striking up again, though the notes carried tension beneath their elegance. Nobles pressed forward, smiling too wide, bowing too low. Each glance toward River and Heiko was weighted with curiosity, suspicion, and veiled fear.
Heiko loathed it — the false pleasantries, the syrup-drenched words, the clinking of goblets masking daggers of intent. Yet he bore it because his father was right: the kingdom had to see him not as the Deathbringer, but as their Crown Prince.
River sensed his struggle. Each time he clenched his jaw too tightly, she brushed her fingers along his arm, grounding him. Her smile was soft yet commanding, enough to silence the cruelest whisper. For though they still doubted Heiko, the court was utterly bewitched by her presence.
When River greeted
