The morning sunlight crept through the tall windows of Aveloria's chamber, spilling soft gold light across the floor. The air smelled of lavender oil. The maids were already at work before she was fully awake, pulling open wardrobes, shaking out gowns, and holding up fabrics for her approval.
Aveloria sat quietly before her mirror, her hair half braided, watching her reflection more than the fluttering chaos around her. Her eyes looked tired. The dinner days ago had left her restless, with the arguing and the tension, Lucien's quiet warning. The kingdom felt different now, heavier somehow.
"My lady," said one of the maids, holding a pale green gown trimmed with pearls. "His Majesty requested your presence by the third bell. This would look fitting for the council gathering."
Aveloria nodded absently. "That's fine."
They moved quickly to prepare it, helping her into the gown's under-layers when the chamber doors opened without warning.
