"Prince Embrez," Salviana said, her voice finding a steadiness her heart hadn't quite mastered yet. She stood straight, the silks of her gown whispering against the stone floor as she moved away from the water.
Embrez didn't enter so much as he occupied the room. His hair was slicked back, every strand in its perfect, arrogant place, and his shoulders carried a confidence that felt like a physical weight. He didn't look at Salviana first. His gaze slid to the side, landing on the maid with a look that was both familiar and unreadable.
"Little Bird," he murmured, using the moniker he always reserved for her. "You look as though you've seen a ghost. Or perhaps just a man who knows where the ghosts are buried."
Jean offered a stiff, shallow bow. Her eyes darted to Salviana—a silent, worried question—but she knew better than to linger when the Prince of the Road gave an order.
"Can you excuse us?" Embrez asked. It wasn't a request.
