The musicians struck the first notes of the formal waltz, a soft rising swell of strings that curled through the hall like warm breath, and Metheea felt the weight of every watching eye settle upon her and Azrayel in a single, suffocating moment.
Azrayel stepped closer.
Their joined hands lifted between them, and his free hand slid to the small of her back that made her catch her breathe. His palm settled against her spine with a warmth that seeped through the fabric of her gown, an answer to the pull that stirred in her blood every time he came near.
She did not have time to gather her breath before he guided her forward, drawing her into the center of the hall with movements that were smooth and unhurried yet left no space for hesitation.
