The great doors of the hall shut behind us with a deep, echoing thud that seemed to swallow the last of the court's noise.
The cheers, the murmurs, the shuffle of nobles and commoners alike faded into nothing as we stepped into the quieter corridors of the palace. Only the soft rhythm of our footsteps remained, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric and the distant hum of servants returning to their duties.
Elias did not let go of my hand.
His grip was warm and steady, firm without being tight, as though he simply assumed I would remain beside him. I did not protest. I did not even consider it.
My fingers rested naturally in his, the contact strangely grounding after the weight of the crowd and their countless stares.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows lining the corridor, painting long bars of gold across the marble floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light. It should have felt like an ordinary afternoon at the palace.
