The villagers, who had gathered in droves, leaned forward with bated breath. Some shielded their eyes from the sun to get a better look, others whispered behind cupped hands, their gazes shifting between Megan and the absurdly extravagant display behind Lord Edvin — complete with musicians, a cart of color-coordinated gifts, and a silk-draped horse that looked just as confused as its owner.
Behind Megan, her parents stood rooted. Her mother's arms were folded so tightly across her chest they might as well have been chained. The glare she fixed on Edvin could've carved granite. Beside her, Megan's father looked like he was physically holding in a laugh, his mustache twitching with effort. When he finally let out a tiny wheeze, his wife promptly jabbed him in the ribs. He coughed instead.
Edvin took a confident step forward, his grin stretching like he'd just won a prize. "You've rejected all my gifts — flowers, even the finest silks from Solaria.
