The grand hall is suffocating. Silk-draped nobles bow in rehearsed courtesy, voices lilting with feigned grace, each trying to catch my attention. My parents sit beside me, their gazes sharp, their silent expectation heavy on my shoulders.

But I am elsewhere.

I count the minutes, watching the sun inch toward the horizon through the tall windows. Soon, the showcase will end. Soon, I will step away from this orchestrated parade and find my way to the gardens. To her.

She never seeks my attention, never dresses herself in elaborate displays or empty words. No, she waits, as she always has—beneath the old willow, bathed in amber light, where silence speaks louder than the court’s endless chatter.

My hands clench at the arms of my chair as another noblewoman steps forward, rehearsed words leaving her lips like poetry without a soul. I offer a nod, nothing more, and shift my gaze back to the window.