Lady Elira

The air in my chambers tastes faintly of lavender and smoke. The candles gutter low as I pace, the silk hem of my gown whispering against the marble. I’ve been waiting too long. The night has teeth, and it bites at my patience.

Finally, there’s a knock.

“Enter,” I call, turning just enough so the firelight paints my profile and not my face. Appearances matter — even in private.

Lina steps inside, bowing with that fluid grace of hers. She’s too composed for her age, too aware of herself. A girl who knows the effect she has. Her pale hair is pinned neatly, her grey eyes as still...