Lyra’s POV
The transition from day to dusk brought a heavy, electric anticipation that settled over the royal wing like a suffocating blanket. As the sun began to bleed into the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows of violet and orange across the stone floors, the terrified handmaidens returned to my chambers.
They moved with a silent, frantic efficiency, stripping away the heavy gold silk of my afternoon gown and replacing it with the ancient, ceremonial garments of the High Luna. The dress was spun from sheer, gossamer white silk, designed to cling to the curves of my body and pool around my bare feet like a morning mist. I
t was completely backless, plunging deep between my shoulder blades, and swept entirely off my left shoulder to leave the smooth, unblemished expanse of my neck
