The surface of the morning was a frantic, decorative chaos.
In the center of the royal bedchamber, Eris sat as a still axis while the world spun around her in a flurry of silk, scented oils, and the sharp metallic chime of jewelry being settled into place.
Maids moved with practiced, jittery efficiency, their hands fluttering over the heavy brocade of her traveling gown, tugging at the stays, smoothing the dramatic flare of the sleeves.
One was busy weaving intricate silver wire through her hair, while another knelt at her feet, polishing the toes of her boots until they reflected the flickering hearth fire.
Rael was a warm, heavy weight in her lap.
Despite being five, a transition age where he usually insisted on his own autonomy and his own chair, he had climbed onto her the moment she sat down, and he hadn't let go.
He was clingier than usual, possessing that specific, wordless intuition children have when the atmosphere of a house shifts.
