Soraya's POV
Asha had outdone herself.
The gown she picked shimmered like liquid moonlight, soft against my skin and delicate enough to make me feel like someone I wasn't — someone who belonged here. My hair had been styled high, a few strands left to brush against my cheek, and the silver necklace around my neck caught the light each time I moved.
When Asha led me into the grand hall, the entire room seemed to pause.
Every head turned. Conversations hushed.
Some gasped in surprise; others simply stared. The women—especially the unmated ones—narrowed their eyes, their smiles freezing into tight lines. I could practically feel their envy prickling against my skin.