Lyria waited for several hours, intermittently pacing the room and reading from her favorite books. Still, no one came to see her. Not the King, not Duke Greyfur, not Haribelle, not anyone else.
As the hourglass sand poured steadily up to the line that indicated six in the evening, Navaill knocked on the door. At Lyria’s permission, he came in.
“Good evening,” he said. “I was wondering if I could bring you dinner? Or escort you to the dining room?”
Lyria sighed. “Yes, thank you. I suppose I will eat in the dining room today,” she said. She stood. “A moment to change, please,” Lyria requested, and Navaill bowed and backed out of the room. Lyria stood with a heavy heart, opening her wardrobe and eyeing her dresses.
“Why is it that I never have anything suitable,” she muttered, thumbing t
