The following morning arrived with a deceptive, cruel brilliance. The Southern sun, a blinding disc of gold, bleached the stone walls of the Vernhardt estateuntil they looked like sun-dried bone. To any outsider, it was a glorious day. But inside the estate, the air felt brittle that made the fine hairs on Liera's neck stand on end.
Liera sat at her vanity, her hands moving mechanically as she smoothed her hair when a sharp knock at her door made her jump, her silver brush clattering to the floor.
"My Lady," a voice called from the other side. It was one of the Duke's personal attendants, a man with a face as expressionless as a stone wall. "The Duke requests your presence in his study. Immediately. He says there are... final arrangements to discuss before the carriages depart for the boutique."
Liera's stomach did a slow, nauseating flip. "I... I will be there shortly," she managed to say, her voice trembling.
