The walk across the ballroom felt like a march toward a guillotine, every step measured and heavy. The silence that had fallen over the room was unnatural, a vacuum created by the presence of the Hollow King. I could hear the rhythmic rustle of my silver silk skirts and the steady, metallic thud of Kasper's boots on the marble. The cold from the locket was no longer just a sensation; it was an invasive force, a frost that had turned my marrow to slush. It felt as though a jagged shard of ice was lodged directly against my heart, pulsing in time with the herbs that were currently eating into my skin.
Kasper's arm was a rigid bar of iron beneath my hand. I leaned into him more than I cared to admit, using his strength to keep my knees from buckling. Through the silver mask, I couldn't see his expression, but the way his fingers twitched against his side told me he was counting the seconds until he could draw his weapon.
