Lyra’s POV
The palace had a way of swallowing sound when it wanted to. Even on a night like this, there was still that hush—a strange quiet that sat beneath everything, like breath held too long.
I stood near the eastern passageway, watching groups of court women glide past in layers of silk, their movement marked by exaggerated obedience.
Laughter tinkled like broken bells.
The banquet hall had been transformed into a fantasy—golden edges, handpicked roses, the scent of slow-roasted meats lingering just beneath the incense smoke.
It should have felt celebratory. But all I could think about was Saana.
And Suzanne—she was at the center of it tonight, shining in a lilac dress that didn’t suit her but made her stand out.
Lady Seraphina took her hand as if she was some prized servant
