The Grand Hall of the Winter Palace was a tempest of silver and sapphire.
The air was thick with the scent of spiced mead and the frantic, rhythmic hum of thousands of voices. It was the sound of an empire trying to process a miracle... or a catastrophe.
"Did you see the way he looked at her?" a countess whispered, her fan fluttering like a trapped moth. "It wasn't just duty. It was… terrifying."
"Those vows," a general murmured, leaning close to his wine. "They spoke like people who have already bled for one another. I've never seen the Emperor so—"
"Happy," his wife interrupted, her voice soft with shock. "He looked genuinely, dangerously happy."
But for Eris, the walls were closing in.
The massive ballgown, which had felt like armor in the cathedral, now felt like a silken tomb. The corset was a cage of silver ribs that denied her every third breath, and the weight of the crown was a dull ache at the base of her skull.
