The Grand Hall held its breath as the Herald's staff struck the floor three times, the sound echoing like a gavel in the court of fate. "The Emperor and Empress will now share the First Dance!"
The applause was a polite, anticipatory roar that died into a sudden, vacuum-like silence as the musicians began. The melody was a traditional Nevareth waltz, played on instruments of hollowed ice-crystal that produced a sound so hauntingly beautiful it felt like the wind mourning the sun.
Soren stood first. He didn't just offer his hand; he offered an invitation into his private storm. "Ready?" he murmured, his voice a low vibration that skipped across Eris's skin.
Eris took a sharp breath, the silver filigree of her bodice pressing into her lungs. "I should warn you—I barely know this dance," she whispered, her golden eyes darting to the sea of predatory faces below.
"I know," Soren said, his lips pulling into a smile that was far too intimate for a sovereign. "I'll guide you."
