It took three courses and half a dozen performances for the court to breathe again.
Servants moved more freely, laughter resumed in cautious doses, and even the flutists returned to their melody with some semblance of ease. But none of it reached the head table.
Not truly.
Mingyu was still and unreadable beside me, two of his fingers lightly pinching against the stem of his wine cup. The Emperor, now thoroughly entertained, leaned back in his seat as though watching a stage. And the Baiguang Princess—still composed, still smiling—kept glancing our way with just enough subtlety to seem accidental.
But I wasn't fooled.
Her gaze landed on Mingyu too often to be polite. She was trying to measure him. Weigh him. I didn't have to read minds to know that she was wondering whether she could slide past me and reach for the crown without losing a hand.
