The morning came quietly.
No loud music filled the halls. No crowd rushed through the palace. No flowers covered every wall until the place looked unfamiliar.
It was simple.
That was what she wanted.
That was what he wanted too.
Still, her hands would not stop shaking.
She stood in front of the mirror while Lyra fixed the last small pin in her hair. Her dress was soft ivory, plain except for the thin silver thread around the sleeves. It was not a royal gown. It was not heavy or bright.
It felt like her.
Lyra stepped back and looked at her for a long moment.
"You look beautiful," Lyra said.
She smiled at her reflection. "You are crying already."
"I am not."
"You are."
Lyra quickly wiped under her eyes. "It is dust."
"There is no dust."
"There could be."
She laughed softly.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
