"Send them into the bridal chamber!" the usher barked as torches snapped against the rafters.
"By order of Lady Alma," someone called, and the hall answered with a mechanical cheer.
"Keep the aisle clear!" a steward snapped at the trailing guests. "No loitering."
Kinsley stepped forward on knees that felt like borrowed wood. Her dress whispered. The jade token at her throat weighed more than it should.
"Elton Ellison," Master of Ceremonies intoned, "you have fulfilled the terms set before Harbor Court. Give the reward."
Elton did not move at first. He stood under the ancestral crest, shoulders like a straight ledger, eyes waiting for nothing more than the next line.
"Reward," he said. The single word cut the air smaller than a paper seal.
Gasps, shuffles, relieved laughter. Someone near the back clapped, pretending.
"Is that all?" Andrea Cervantes called from her seat, voice sharp enough to make someone flinch. "After all that ceremony?"
"Silence," Alma Pettersson commanded. Her voice did not raise. It shut Andrea down the way a ledger seals an unpaid account.
Kinsley felt the press of the household behind her and the press of the crown at her nape. The crown was heavy, iron wrapped in fine filigree, an old thing that belonged to the Ellison line. It dug at her skin every time she breathed.
"Stand," a maid hissed, guiding Kinsley forward. "Walk straight."
Kinsley walked. The hall was full of eyes that catalogued her like a shipment. The Ellison estate traded in reputation
