It didn't take long.
The moment she stepped beyond the threshold of the Banquet Hall's central floor, the tide of conversation shifted subtly—like water bending around a new stone.
Eyes turned. Not all. But enough.
The ones that mattered.
She could feel the familiar stares of young noblewomen, draped in hand-embroidered lace and the heavier silks reserved for ceremonies that meant something. A half-dozen of them gathered in a loose crescent near one of the mana-crystal fountains, where the light pooled across their gowns like liquid opal.
Lady Fiorenza was among them, wearing sea-glass blue and that same sharp-lipped smile that never quite touched her eyes. Lady Ameline, too—newly betrothed to a minor duke's second son, her posture already stiffer than necessary. And of course, Fiorenza's shadow—delicate, sweet-voiced Celestra, who said little but watched everything.
Their conversation fluttered briefly when they saw her.
