Your Highness entered the banquet hall, his usual lazy smile plastered on his face as he scanned the gathered nobles. The tension was almost tangible, and the weight of dozens of curious eyes turned towards him the moment he crossed the threshold. He casually waved a hand, as if brushing away an invisible cloud of awkwardness.
"Did I crash the party at the wrong time? Should I have worn something more dramatic?" he said lightly, his gaze lingering on Elowen, who gave him a small nod, relief flashing briefly in her eyes.
Mikhailis then looked at Prince Laethor, noting the flicker of annoyance in his gaze that he tried—unsuccessfully—to hide.
He's already feeling the heat, Mikhailis thought with satisfaction.
He could read it in the subtle twitch of the prince's lips, the way his eyes narrowed for just a second.
Laethor, feeling cornered, plastered on a strained smile and addressed the nobles.
