After the ceremony with the Septon, every lord, lady, and family member from both Courts moved to the feasting hall for the celebrations. Azriel and you were expected to remain close, their bond on full display for the court’s eyes, despite the tension simmering beneath the surface. Appearances were everything in this kind of arrangement, and neither of you had the luxury of revealing your true feelings.

The feasting hall was alive with chatter, the hum of conversations blending with the lilting melodies from the musicians. Servants weaved through the crowd, making sure everyone had a full glass, while the scent of rich foods filled the air. Azriel and you stood slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, your eyes scanning the room, both of you maintaining an air of quiet observation.

A servant passed with a tray of goblets, each one filled with wine. Azriel reached for two without a word, his movements swift and efficient, never missing a beat. He handed you one without a second thought, his expression neutral as he surveyed the guests around you.

You took a sip, the cool wine hitting your tongue as you watched the festivities unfold. After a moment, you muttered under your breath, “Wanker.”

Azriel’s sharp hearing caught your words, and his gaze flicked toward you. His brow arched slightly in surprise, but there was no anger in his expression—just the faintest glimmer of amusement. “Did you just call me a wanker?”

You shrugged, taking another sip from your goblet as you followed his gaze. “I called myself a wanker. But I suspect you're one too.”

There was a flicker of something in Azriel’s eyes, the challenge not lost on him. His lips curled into the briefest of smiles, but it was the sort of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His tone was low, but there was a faint warmth there. “I think you’re underestimating me.”

He took another drink, his demeanor still composed, but the amusement in his gaze lingered, a soft, private moment amid the crowd.