The terrace door closed behind him, and Phoenix walked.
Not toward the ballroom.
Not yet.
He needed a moment, just a moment, to scrape together the pieces of himself that he'd laid out on that cold stone railing.
The corridor beyond was quieter than the main hall, though he could still hear the music, still feel the vibration of it through the floor. Servants hurried past with empty trays and fresh linens, none of them sparing him a second glance.
He was just another noble in a fine coat.
Not the heir to a rising house. Not the boy who had the confidence to challenge the academy's top two. Not the man who had just told the woman he loved that he understood why she couldn't love him back.
Just another face in the crowd.
Phoenix stopped at a window and pressed his forehead against the cool glass.
