rthur’s wife was absolutely stunning.
After attending a school for princesses for more than six years, you would think that I was used to regal, radiant girls. But Gwenivere Pendragon—formerly Queen Gwenivere of Camelot—was on another level.
She had chocolate-colored skin, much like Liza’s. Despite being in her late thirties, not a wrinkle marred her face. Her eyes were a strange, entrancing shade of navy. High cheekbones made her look like the very definition of royalty. Her hair was a cascade of dark brown curls that fell to her lower back.
Again, I felt the compulsion to curtsy. This time, on seeing the example Ormé and the Gwenivere Brigade girls set, I heeded it.
My friends and I curtsied or bowed to Gwenivere as she entered Morgan’s study. Gwenivere’s dress was a lavender velvet,
