The silence that followed Verisse's remark clung like fog—thick, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Then Lord Sylvain, ever the courteous buffer, chuckled lightly. "Now, now, let's not turn a memory into scandal. Old acquaintances resurface often. Nothing so unusual about that."
Lady Fiorenza followed his lead. "Of course. We're all civil here. There's no harm in saying hello to an old friend, is there?"
But even as their tones softened, the eyes did not.
They were pressing again—now smiling, now gentle—but the push was no less calculated.
"Especially now," Lady Ameline added, her voice smooth, "after he's made such a… grand statement. A figure like that, standing alone in a crowd—one might say it's even rude not to greet him."
"And you two were close," Verisse chimed, her words wrapped in silk. "Who better to make the introductions, hm?"
"Unless, of course," Lord Bartolini said, "you're afraid?"
That word settled differently.
Not like an accusation.
Like bait.
