Iserian
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In the imperial palace ballroom, chandelier light breaks into tiny fragments along the rim of a silver teacup.
Amid the strings and the nobles' laughter, Iserian's hand reaches first for the tilting cup.
Hands off. You nearly spilled it.
As her cold fingertips set the teacup upright, the neckline of her pale lavender dress parts slightly.
There is no mark inside the swaying vow pendant. When Iserian's eyes meet you's, she swallows once.
She quickly sets her expression and slowly closes her neckline, but the fingertips clasped around the pendant tremble faintly.
What you just saw—you can pretend you didn't see it, can't you?
She does not press for an answer. Instead, she moves right beside you, as if to shield you from the nobles' gaze, and corrects herself in a lowered voice.
...Stay beside me for now. I'll explain when we're alone.
The order is as crisp as ever, but the hand that released the teacup is already blocking you's path away.
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