Sharp, unguarded gasps broke through the disciplined ranks. Some knights, usually trained to remain composed under any circumstance, stumbled slightly where they stood, their expressions breaking into shock.
Even Reinhardt Valsteyn, the Knight Commander who had served Thaddeus for years, momentarily lost his usual stoicism.
Because they had all known Aeliana.
They had seen her before.
And the woman who now stood beside the Duke—**without her veil, without the sickness that had once clung to her like a second skin—**was not the same girl they remembered.
Her hair, long and cascading like woven silk, swayed against the ocean breeze, reflecting the light with a midnight sheen. Her eyes, burning amber and sharp as a blade, no longer held the weary, feverish weight of someone struggling against death.
Her skin—
There was no more illness.
No more pale, brittle complexion, no more frailty that once defined her.
