A commanding voice cut through the haze of Isolde's intoxicated state. She blinked, trying to focus on the source of the interruption. Prince Elynor stood before them, his regal bearing unmistakable. His eyes flicked between Elias and Isolde, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
Elias straightened, his arm still firmly around Isolde's waist. "Your Highness," he greeted, a note of deference in his tone. Elynor's eyes glanced at Elias's arm fastened around Isolde's waist,
"What is the meaning of this." Elias's face contorted with panic, his grip on Isolde tightening instinctively. "I was just helping her to her quarters, Your Highness. She's had too much to drink at the celebration." He tried to explain, his words laced with nervousness.
