Arin's hand snapped back from Auren's as if burned. A sudden chill swept through the warm night, colder than any autumn wind. The princess. Elyra. Her voice, soft as falling snow, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken accusations.
Arin dipped into a quick, clumsy curtsy, a village habit that felt awkward and out of place in the formal gardens. "Your Highness," she murmured, her gaze darting from Elyra's perfectly coiffed copper hair to her emerald eyes, which held a chilling stillness.
Elyra's eyes, however, didn't move from Arin's face. She lifted a delicate hand, adorned with rings that gleamed even in the dim light, and tilted her head. It was a subtle gesture, yet it commanded silence more effectively than any shouted order.
"No need for such deference, commoner," Elyra said, her voice still impossibly soft, yet edged with something sharp. "Not when you've already made yourself so... familiar."
