Max

“The gown is made of moonlight,” Annabel whispers when she lifts it from the velvet-lined chest, and I believe her.

It was my mother Aurora’s wedding gown, and the fabric gleams silver and pearl in the morning sun, sheer as breath, yet heavy with enchantment. Diamond-laced embroidery shimmers across the bodice like frost on glass, and the hem is edged in sapphire thread that looks as though it was spun from the stars themselves.

Annabel hums as she works on my hair, her hands deft as always, weaving strands into an intricate crown of braids.

"You’ll take his breath, my lady," she says, voice soft. "King Kael won’t remember...