The Arindale court was a living, breathing organism. When it couldn't destroy a threat through direct violence—like poisoned wine—it attempted to destroy it through a thousand microscopic, venomous bites.
"They have requested an audience, My Lady," Caspian announced, standing rigidly in the center of Kaia's new dressing room. "The Ladies of the High Council. They claim it is a 'welcome tea' to celebrate your... rapid elevation."
Kaia sat at the massive, gilded vanity, examining her reflection. The bruising on her neck was finally beginning to fade into a dull yellow, but it was still undeniably visible against her pale skin.
She wasn't wearing pastels today. She was wearing a day dress of deep, forest-green silk, tailored so sharply it looked like armor.
"A welcome tea," Kaia repeated dryly, tracing the edge of the Sun-Ring on her left hand. "So, it is an execution by porcelain."
