The rain had stopped, but the sky remained gray.
Lyra stood by her bedroom window, watching the damp garden below. Her fingers drummed against the glass—an anxious rhythm she couldn't quite control.
Six months of safety.Six months of comfortable silence.But comfort is not life.
She felt him before he touched her.
Elion came up behind her. His embrace was warm, protective, wrapping around her like a blanket on a cold day. He pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her neck. The gesture was intimate, but tinged with the excessive care of someone afraid of breaking what he touched.
"What is it, my dear?" he asked, sensing the tension in her shoulders.
Lyra took a deep breath. The glass fogged with her sigh."I'm going to the Marchioness's party tonight."
Elion froze. His arms didn't loosen, but they stiffened for a heartbeat.
"The winter gala?" His voice shifted, the lightness gone. "Lyra, you don't need to trouble yourself with that. Those people are hollow. Tedious. They'll only exhaust you with rude questions. I'm going solely because I'm obligated as an advisor."
It was always the same.They're bad. You stay here. I protect you.
She turned in his arms and looked him in the eyes."I want to go."
"Lyra—"
"I can't stay hidden here for the rest of my life, Elion." Her voice came out firmer than she'd intended. "I'm not a fugitive criminal. I'm free. You told me that."
"And you are," he replied quickly—perhaps too quickly. "But freedom has costs you haven't seen yet. Their looks… their judgment…"
"I survived the hold of a ship and the auction at Deuse," she said softly. "I think I can survive crystal goblets and old gossips."
Elion hesitated. He searched her face for the old fear. He didn't find it. What he found instead was a stubborn determination that, with a tightening in his chest, he realized frightened him as much as it drew him in.
"All right," he conceded with a defeated sigh. "If that's what you want. I'll have Estnia go to the dressmaker immediately to buy something suitable. Something discreet—perhaps pale blue…"
"Thank you, my love." Lyra smiled, a small, unreadable smile. "But I already had one made."
"You did?" Elion raised an eyebrow. "When?"
"Weeks ago." She stepped away, walking toward the wardrobe. "Sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to be sure it would be ready."
"That's perfectly fine, of course." He looked faintly disappointed at not having arranged it himself, but soon recovered his gentle smile. "Shall I have the carriage take you, then? I need to arrive early. Aurelian and I have a preliminary meeting with the Marquis about the borders."
The name lingered in the air.Aurelian would be there. Early.
"Go," Lyra said. "I'll meet you there."
"I'll leave guards at the door for you." Elion kissed her forehead. "And Lyra?"
"Yes?"
"If anyone looks at you the wrong way… I'll take you out of there immediately."
She nodded."I know you will."
When he left, Lyra waited until the sound of the carriage faded down the gravel road.
Only then did she open the wardrobe.
Inside, hanging like a secret, was the dress.
It wasn't pale blue. It wasn't discreet. It wasn't the color of someone who apologizes for existing or tries to blend into the salmon and cream walls of human nobility.
It was green.A deep, living, forest green.
The color of where she came from.The color of what she was.
Lyra touched the fabric.
Elion wanted to protect her by hiding her.Aurelian wanted to humiliate her by ignoring her.
Tonight, she would accept neither.
Tonight, the General would have to look her in the eyes.And he would not see a "girl."
He would see the mistake he had failed to erase.