Mila POV
I sit where I do not belong, yet I fit the velvet upholstery better than the woman who was born to it.
To my left, King Vael grips his goblet with knuckles as white as the marble pillars surrounding us. To my right, Queen Luna wears a smile so brittle I can almost hear it cracking under the weight of the chandelier's glow. They are terrified. Not of me, not yet, but of the void sitting a few tables away.
I, the shadow, offer a graceful tilt of my head to a passing Duke. He bows low, his spine curving in a display of practiced loyalty. He thinks he is honoring the blood of Nothingwood. In reality, he is bowing to a girl from the gutters who learned to walk like a goddess.
