Dark-haired. Beautiful in the way that expensive weapons are beautiful: polished, precise, and designed to do damage. Her dress was red, which at a bonding ceremony in Aelindris was either a declaration of war or the worst fashion decision in recorded history, and her face said she was aware of both interpretations and had selected the one she preferred.
"Stop the ceremony."
Vesper Willow's voice carried across the courtyard with a projection that would have made stage performers weep. Two hundred Fae nobles turned with expressions that ranged from confusion to alarm to the particular facial configuration of people witnessing a diplomatic incident unfolding in real time.
"You are marrying your sister, Tristan."
The word detonated.
