Malvoria leaned against the gilded dressing screen, arms folded, her eyes never leaving Elysia.
The tailors and their helpers were busy flitting back and forth with armfuls of gowns, leaving a wake of colored silk and whispers in their path.
Each time Elysia disappeared behind the curtain, Malvoria's anticipation built, and each time Elysia emerged, something in Malvoria's chest tightened.
Everything looked beautiful on her. It was almost infuriating how Elysia could slip into emerald velvet or midnight blue and transform the whole room, making the air itself seem to hush in her presence.
She stood in front of the great mirror, twisting this way and that, her lips pursed in concentration, never quite satisfied.
"This one?" she asked, sweeping out in a gown of dark amethyst, the sleeves dusted with silver beads. She turned, the skirt fanning out. The tailor beamed.
