Liera had been standing near the periphery, her gaze fixed like a lifeline on the shimmering silver of Verona's skirts across the room. She'd been rooting for her sister that the "new" Verona would stay strong.
Then, the shadow fell over her.
Prince Herschel didn't sneak up, of course. Royalty of his caliber had a way of displacing the air around them so you felt their presence before you saw the gold braid. When he offered his hand, it wasn't a question. It never was. A Crown Prince "asking" for a dance was merely a polite way of stating a command, and Liera, ever the well-trained daughter of House Vernhardt, knew her role. She placed her trembling fingers in his palm, and the world of the ballroom began to tilt.
