The party carried on in a haze of wine, music, and gilded laughter, but Isadora felt the weight of a hundred stares long after the king's toast. No one dared speak outright in the king's presence, yet the glances and half-smiles spoke louder than words.
She was grateful when Lucien, sensing it, lightly touched her wrist. "Come with me," he murmured, his voice low.
Without waiting for permission, he guided her through a side archway into one of the palace's smaller, unlit galleries — a long corridor lined with old tapestries and moonlight spilling in through tall windows. The faint hum of the party faded behind them.
Isadora drew a breath. "You didn't have to—"
"I did," Lucien interrupted, turning to face her. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, but his tone held no humor now. "You're not accustomed to places like this yet, and I'd be a fool to leave you unguarded in it."
Isadora frowned. "It's just gossip. I've dealt with worse."
