Maegel didn't wait for another word. He grabbed my hand, his grip firm and possessive, and led me away from the balcony.
We bypassed the main hall, taking a series of gilded corridors that grew increasingly quiet, the air losing the scent of noble sweat and replacing it with the sharp, clean smell of cedar and dragon-fire incense.
Every step we took felt like a victory march. The servants we passed bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the floor, scurrying out of our way as if we were a force of nature.
As we turned a final corner toward the royal wing, a cold sensation prickled the back of my neck.
I didn't stop, but my golden eyes flickered toward the deep shadows of an arched corner. There, tucked away in the gloom where the candlelight failed to reach, was a silhouette.
It was perfectly still—a watcher in the dark, silent and observing.
I knew it wasn't a demon because it didn't smell like one. It was a beastman for sure, and his eyes were locked on me, not Maegel.
