There was no stopping the shaking of her hands. Lyra kept them folded together, hidden within the long fabric of her sleeves as she rested them in her lap. It was like the Goddess knew she would need something to help preserve her appearance and chose the dress. From a distance, she was exactly what Merrow had paraded her as yesterday: poised, composed, a silver-haired ornament at the edge of a throne.
Up close, it was obvious that she was unravelling at the seams.
She couldn’t look away from the arena below, even though Kade was now absent. Slaves had been sent in, heads bowed and chains rattling as they worked quickly and desperately to rake the blood-soaked sand, erasing the remnants of Merrow’s first trial. Lyra was in the same position, only a different chain holding her.
The slav
