Her hair fell in polished waves down her shoulders, her lips painted the same daring red as her dress, and around her throat, a delicate choker hugged her. Tonight, she wasn't a forgotten maid or a pawn in someone else's scheme.
Tonight, she was a woman who demanded to be seen. She planned on making a statement, on being remembered. And if she was lucky, she planned on haunting the thoughts of her mate.
When she reached the cordoned section of the square, she slowed her steps. The guards blocked her path at first, but Isolde had come prepared. With a flourish, she slipped Lord Lucivar's shield seal from her purse and held it up between two manicured fingers.
The guards straightened immediately, before stepping aside. Isolde's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. Access granted.
Her gaze swept over the long table of nobles. She took in the setting.
