"Elowyn!"
Selphine's voice cut through the hush, sharp and laced with genuine alarm.
Aurelian was already half out of his chair, his hands twitching as if unsure whether to reach for her or give her space. "Elowyn, are you—?"
But it was Cedric who moved first.
The scraping of his chair was abrupt, a grating rupture against the marble floor, and in three long strides he was there—shoulder brushing Selphine aside without a second thought.
"Elowyn's not feeling well," Cedric said quickly, his voice low but commanding enough to brook no argument. His hand found her shoulder, steady and warm, grounding her in a way she hadn't realized she still needed.
He crouched beside her, leaning down until his mouth was near her ear, shielding her from the dozens of half-curious, half-disgusted glances sharpening across the terrace.
"We need to move," he murmured.
