The figure stepped fully into the light — and the hall itself seemed to grow dimmer around him.
The Third Prince was breathtaking in a way that was both regal and unsettling. His hair was black as midnight, long enough to brush his shoulders, and his eyes gleamed with an eerie shade of violet that seemed to see through walls and men alike. His robe shimmered between deep crimson and obsidian silk, embroidered with silver serpents coiling around a crest of the royal house of Almace. A faint, otherworldly light clung to him, as though his very presence bent the air.
When he smiled, it was courteous… yet cold, like a predator pretending to host a dinner party.
Everyone froze in disbelief. Monk Jan's mouth hung open, but quickly composed himself. Sir William's eyes narrowed. Even Lady Christiana's fingers trembled on the hilt of her sword.
But not Eros. His expression remained steady—focused. Watching and calculating.
But she could not hold it in again.
