The hallway outside the ballroom was quieter.
Muted music pulsed against the marble walls, distant and echoing, dulled by the thick drapes and layers of imperial stone. It was enough to make it feel like a separate world, one where the rules bent, just a little, and breath could finally catch.
Irina stood beside one of the tall windows, a single-gloved hand resting on the carved sill, the other lightly trailing the edge of her fan. Her cheeks were still flushed from dancing, hair slipping loose around her temples in soft curls. And behind her, Alexander stood like a shadow unwilling to fall.
He had followed.
Of course he had.
"You're scowling again," she said without turning. "It makes people nervous."
"Not you."
"No," she agreed. "I like it, even if it makes me look crazy."
