(Rosaline POV)
The applause from the dance had not fully faded when Elyra slipped free of her seat.
I noticed it because Arthur noticed it first.
His gaze lifted, sharpened, and then softened when his sister caught his eye and waved—small, excited, entirely unafraid. Her mask was a delicate thing tonight, pale silver shaped like a crescent moon, ribbons trailing behind her like a child's careless handwriting.
"Brother," she called, already moving toward us. "Rose!"
Her voice carried easily over the music, bright and pleased. Heads turned. Smiles followed. The empire loved its princess when she smiled like that—unburdened, untouched by the weight of crowns.
Arthur's hand tightened briefly at my waist. "Elyra," he said, gentle but cautious. "You should stay with your attendants."
"I have," she replied, waving vaguely behind her. "They're right there. I just wanted—" She stopped in front of me, eyes shining. "I wanted to tell you that you danced beautifully."
