My breath still caught as I steadied against him, the solid weight of his arm locking tight around my waist—no gentle hold, but firm, unyielding, marking me plainly for everyone to see. His dark eyes bored straight into mine above the mask, voice deep and low, vibrating right through his coat into my chest:
"What a dramatic entrance you've made."
He didn't let me step away. Instead he turned us slowly, sweeping his gaze across the whole hall, every pair of eyes shrinking back instantly under that cold, heavy look. He spoke loud and clear, cutting through every murmur, tone flat and absolute—no sweet words, no soft praise, only sharp, undeniable claim:
"This is Seraphina. She stands where I stand. Anyone who bothers her, touches her, or steps out of line with her… answers directly to me."
A hush fell, heavy and thick, then sharp whispers began to ripple all around—jealous, wary, full of disbelief:
