IRIS

A guard pushes open the towering doors, and warmth pours out—a rush of sound, candlelight, and hundreds of bodies gathered under the vaulted ceiling. The chandeliers spill glittering reflections across polished stone; the scent of fresh pine from the decorations mixes with roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faint floral perfumes worn by noblewomen.

For a heartbeat, I stop.

Because every single head turns toward us.

A ripple moves through the crowd like wind brushing a field of grass. People bow. Some lower their heads deeply; some place fists over hearts. The respect isn’t demanded—it’s offered freely.

Darian leans closer, voice soft but meant only for me. “Breathe.”

I...