The Sterling estate ballroom was a monument to excess.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, each one holding hundreds of candles that bathed the room in warm golden light. Marble columns wrapped in silk ribbons lined the walls. Long tables overflowed with food that cost more than most families earned in a year. Champagne flowed like water.
Hundreds of nobles filled the space. Men in tailored suits with jeweled pins. Women in gowns that probably required servants just to put on. They laughed and chatted and clinked glasses, celebrating the union of two powerful houses.
At the front of the room, beneath a massive floral arch, Lyra stood like a statue.
Her gown was beautiful. Deep blue silk that matched her eyes, embroidered with silver thread. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant style that showed off her neck. She looked perfect.
She looked dead inside.
