Lyria changed quickly into her more appropriate gown, slipping into Ravelina’s room to do so while Duke Greyfur waited respectfully outside.
Leaving her wine stained, discarded dress on the floor, she admired herself briefly in Ravelina’s mirror before she exited the room. She had chosen her white dress with the blue accent cape, which was both appropriately formal for the Keeping and appropriately flattering for seeing the King. In it, she felt truly beautiful in a way she rarely felt, not just powerful or intimidating, but beautiful. Delicate, even. Her features, which were proud and prominent, looked delicate in the candlelight. Her hair, a nondescript light brown, shimmered seductively against the blue material of the cape.
She giggled and spun in a circle, enjoying the billow of the
