The music from the ballroom drifted out onto the terrace like a dying echo, filtered through heavy velvet curtains and thick glass. Here, under the watchful gaze of the stars, the air was marginally cooler, though it still lacked the sharp bite of the North. Elric leaned against a marble pillar, his silhouette dark and jagged against the pale stone. He didn't look like a man at a celebration. He looked like a soldier guarding a breach.
Beside him, Prince Herschel stood with an infuriatingly relaxed posture, a glass of pale gold wine held loosely in his fingers. He looked perfectly at home, a creature of light and luxury who had never known the sting of frostbite or the weight of a rusted blade.
