*Anastasia* "Sir Pendwick," I manage, steadying my voice even as my stomach plummets like a stone dropped from the palace tower. The muscles in my face move by habit, not ease—a mask I've worn countless times sliding into place. I force the corners of my mouth to lift, polite but not too warm—just enough. My voice rings hollow in my own ears as I shape it into something graceful, something imperial."You would like a dance?""Ah, um, if you don't mind? I mean, if it's not too much trouble." Pendwick steps forward, his face flushed—not just with color, but with a slick sheen, as though the very air around him burns hotter than the rest of the ballroom. His palm brushes his jacket's hem—then halts mid-motion as if caught in a forbidden act. He stiffens with a swallow that bobs visibly in his throat, eyes flicking once, nervously, to my hands."Of course he does, Ana!" Father bellows with a slap to Pendwick's back, the sound cracking through the air like summer thunder, drowning the mus
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