Sebastian and Belle left their seats with the rest of the upper tier when the flow of guests began moving toward the banquet hall.
From a distance the movement looked chaotic, a tide of nobles, ascendants, scholars, and dignitaries spilling through enormous archways, but up close it was strangely orderly.
Invisible lines of etiquette guided every step. No one shoved. No one rushed. Status determined the rhythm of the crowd, and the upper dais filtered out first with quiet authority.
Belle's arm was linked with Sebastian's. Her blindfold remained in place, black fabric stark against her pale skin, yet she navigated the shifting mass without hesitation.
People parted around her instinctively. Even those who weren't looking directly at her felt it, a subtle pressure that suggested it would be unwise to obstruct her path.
Sebastian noticed the way conversations dimmed when they passed.
Not stopped. Just softened.
