The music kept pounding as dancers in risqué outfits moved through the crowd. One, two, maybe five of them glided toward the nobles, inviting them to join in. Some declined, too scared of their partners to risk it, while others jumped in, clearly enjoying the show more than they probably should. They danced awkwardly, out of sync with the music and the dancers themselves, but still tried to keep up, letting themselves get swept into the drunken rhythm.
Glen watched them in silence, resting his chin on his hand, not moving a muscle. His head, though? Loud as hell. Thoughts flung around like wildfire, who was to blame? What twisted motivation drove the Duke to pull off that monstrous corruption behind his back?
