Lyra stood at the entrance to the banquet hall, her steps faltering. Percival had gone upstairs to change his wine-stained shirt after shielding her from the clumsy servant. The warmth of his protection still lingered, but now she was alone again.
She straightened her shoulders and stepped into the glittering room. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across the gathered elite of Oceanion society. Conversations hushed momentarily as heads turned her way, then resumed with increased fervor.
Lyra caught snippets as she passed by.
"That's her—Percival Covington's latest conquest."
"Isn't she the Moreau bastard?"
"How did someone like her end up with Covington?"
Her face remained composed, a mask of indifference she'd perfected over years of similar treatment. She made her way toward an empty corner, intending to wait for Percival's return.
"Lyra Moreau." The voice dripped with false sweetness.
