The Solstice celebration fills the great hall until the stone itself seems to pulse with sound.

Firelight crawls along the beams and banners, spilling over long tables heavy with food and polished goblets. Music rolls through the space in steady waves, loud enough to drown thought if I let it.

I stand near the edge of it all, half-hidden beside a pillar, trying to look like I belong.

The dress I’m wearing is borrowed, pale fabric catching the torchlight every time I shift my weight. It feels too soft against my skin, too exposed, like armor made of silk.

Everyone here moves with confidence. They laugh loudly, gesture freely, and lean into one another as if this place has always been theirs.

I keep my hands folded, reminding myself to breathe, reminding myself that drawing attention is dangerous.

Draven stands at the center of the hall, exactly where he should be.

His posture is unyielding, shoulders squared, expression carved from control. Lords and captains approach him in turns, offering praise and congratulations that he accepts with brief nods and measured words.

I shouldn’t be watching him.

I know that the moment I start counting his glances, I’ve already lost something I can’t afford to lose.

Still, every time his attention drifts across the room, my pulse jumps even when his eyes don’t land on me. It feels like being weighed without being acknowledged.

I edge closer to the pillar, letting the shadow cut me in half. The stone is cool against my back, grounding me, reminding me that I’m still here and still breathing.

“Trying to vanish already?”

Riven’s voice startles me, and I turn too quickly, heart leaping into my throat.

He stands in front of me with that easy smile that makes people relax before they realize they’ve done it. His posture is casual, but his eyes miss nothing.

“I just needed a moment,” I say, forcing my voice steady.

“Understandable,” he replies, glancing toward the crowded tables. “These celebrations can feel like a siege if you don’t know the rules.”

“I don’t,” I admit quietly, because there’s no point pretending otherwise.

His gaze lingers, curious rather than suspicious. Then he offers his hand, palm up, waiting without pressure. “Dance with me,” he says. “Before the music changes again.”

My first instinct is to refuse.

Stepping into the open feels like inviting every gaze in the room to dissect me. But refusing would draw attention too, and something stubborn in me refuses to retreat again.

I place my hand in his, Riven’s grip is warm and confident as he leads me toward the open space near the hearth. The musicians adjust seamlessly, slowing their rhythm, and suddenly we’re moving together beneath the firelight.

I expect my feet to betray me but they don’t. My body remembers rhythm the same way it remembers balance in a fight.

Step, turn, shift.

Riven leads smoothly, but I follow without panic, letting instinct guide me instead of fear. Firelight blurs at the edges of my vision. The noise of the hall fades, replaced by the steady cadence of movement and breath.

For a brief moment, I forget where I am.

He spins me, skirts flaring around my legs, and something loosens in my chest. A laugh slips out before I can stop it, quick and surprised, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

When the music ends, applause ripples through the hall. I step back, breath controlled, cheeks warm, forcing my expression into composure. Riven bows with exaggerated flair, clearly enjoying himself.

“See?” he murmurs. “Not so dangerous.”

I retreat before I can say something foolish, moving back toward the shadows.

That’s when I feel it, heavy and unmistakable.

The weight of attention presses against my skin. I don’t need to look to know Draven has been watching, the awareness follows me like heat even as I turn away, and I slip out while the noise swells again, heart pounding harder than the music ever did.

Outside, the night air hits cold and clean, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I follow the stone path down toward the beach, drawn by the sound of the sea. The moon hangs low, casting silver across the water and sand. I stop near the tide line and wrap my arms around myself as the wind tugs at my borrowed dress.

The surf breathes in and out, steady and patient, as if counting time.

“You left the celebration.”

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