The next morning dawned too bright for Beatrice's liking.
Not because of fatigue, though the court had grown exhausting in new, political ways, but because the sunlight seemed determined to touch everything.
No shadows. No cover. Just honesty, flooding through the palace like a second fire.
And today, the fire wore gold.
The royal family's first formal audience since the assassination attempt had been announced. A seated open court, where nobles would present grievances, offer gifts, and unofficially... gauge the future queen.
Beatrice stood in front of the mirror, motionless as Lily adjusted the final fastenings of her gown. It was blue today, but not soft. Deep, royal, edged in silver at the seams. Strong, strategic, no black.
No Da Ville red.
She wasn't anyone's daughter this morning. She was the crown's.
Lily stepped back. "You look like steel."
"Let's hope I hold like it."
