The laughter of the party had faded into a distant, melodic hum as Verona led Elric deeper into the Private Moon-Garden. She didn't take him back toward the stone arches of the stronghold. Instead, she guided him toward the very edge of the cliffside, where a natural stone terrace jutted out over the frozen abyss of the Aldenar Valley.
"Verona, where are we going?" Elric asked, his voice thick with the remnants of the night's emotion. He felt lightheaded, not from the ale, but from the sheer, staggering weight of being celebrated. "The party is that way."
"The party is for the Duke," Verona whispered, her hand entwined with his, her fingers tracing the rough callouses on his palm. "This... this is for Elric."
They reached the terrace, and for a moment, it was pitch black. The golden lanterns of the garden were hidden behind a thicket of ancient pines. The only light came from the indifferent stars and the pale, blue-white reflection of the snow.
