The rustle of fabric broke the spell of that put everyone in trance. The gazes, though reluctant, shifted from Xion to the Archduke.
Darius was descending the steps of the podium.
His movements were less like walking and more like drifting, as though even gravity dared not hinder his grace.
The obsidian robe shimmered under the enchantment lights, and the silver embroidery along the hems caught every flicker of light, perfectly matching his silver hair.
Only Xion noticed that Darius had styled his hair the same way Xion had once done for him.
The braided crown was fastened with the same winged hairpin Xion had left behind before fleeing to Faymere.
So, when Darius descended the final step and turned toward him, Xion halted as well.
He watched how the great Archduke bowed to him with utmost reverence, silently offering him his hand.
The silence that stretched was deafening for the guests, who held their breath, not even daring to gasp aloud.
