The doors loomed ahead like the gates of war.
Carved from obsidian, etched with ancient runes, and flanked by twin braziers burning with white flame, they were magnificent, intimidating, and far too theatrical for Malvoria's current state of mind.
Behind them, the ballroom throbbed with life. Laughter, clinking crystal, and excited murmurs spilled out like smoke through the enchanted cracks.
She could hear the murmur of nobles already half-drunk on imported nectar wine. The flutter of silks, the scratch of polished boots, and the rustle of egos being inflated.
The whole court was here—demon lords and ladies, human dignitaries, celestial diplomats. And possibly assassins pretending to be chefs.
Malvoria took a slow breath, adjusting the edge of her crimson cape.
She had faced battlefields drenched in blood. Led armies through ash storms. Argued with her mother in full council.
But this?
This was different.
"Do I look like I'm about to cry?" she muttered.
