**Chalkboard—Jóhann Jóhannsson**
Syria followed them from a distance as they exited the banquet hall into a quiet side drawing room. Once inside the confines of the private yet spacious space, Ember stood, arms crossed loosely, her stare cutting through Dylan Shantaville like a blade.
It dared him to finally speak what was on his mind after all that persistence.
Her impatience simmered on the surface. Honestly, she would rather be back at the banquet hall, studying potential political allies and foes who were all disguised as distinguished guests who were there to present their good wishes to the Queen.
Yet somehow, the boy before her didn't seem to know how to read a room.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his feet. Still, beneath the nerves, there was a stubborn resolve on his face. The kind of stubborn resolve that said he had made an important decision that he would stand by regardless of whatever happened.
