Page 39 of Daughter of Shadows and Ash

For the entrance, chose "sweep into the room uninvited" as it best conveys both the physical action and the presumptuous nature of their entry, while maintaining an elegant prose style fitting for the genre.

Selected "artificially pleasant" for Miss Gregoria's voice as it best captures Alora's natural distrust and the underlying tension, while staying true to her perceptive character traits.

Chose the fairytale matron comparison as it effectively establishes Miss Gregoria's character while connecting to Alora's love of reading and creating a vivid image that fits the dark fantasy romance genre.

Selected "Her arms cradled what appeared to be a dress" as it maintains an air of mystery and creates a more engaging narrative flow.

For the hair description, chose the option that creates the strongest contrast between the two characters while maintaining the scene's power dynamics.

The crone's lips pursed as her gaze raked over my dress, her disdain barely concealed. "Luella, please be sure Lady Alora is dressed appropriately for her meal. I'll see to it the dressmaker comes for a fitting this afternoon."

"Yes Miss Gregoria," Luella curtsies as the old woman departs. Once the door clicks shut, Luella raises her head to me. "Let me help you with this." She unfurls a stunning maroon gown, its gauzy fabric floating like blood in water. A far cry from my usual wardrobe. From beneath the dress, she produces a pair of slippers. The pale slippers shimmer with intricate patterns of gold thread and beads, like sunlight captured in silk. "Her Majesty selected these herself for you."

"Thank you," I drew my dress over my head and accepted her assistance in getting the new gown on me. The bodice laced in the back, and Luella pulled the strings tight, forcing the air from my lungs. I gazed in the golden mirror propped by the wardrobe. The gown was breathtaking. The neckline plunged daringly to my navel while the fabric clung to every curve, like the way my fighting leathers fit. "Is this too revealing for breakfast?"

Luella fought back a laugh, failing miserably, "This is modest compared to what you'll see at court. Half the ladies here parade themselves before the prince like peacocks, hoping to catch his eye." She paused, studying my expression. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"Well, I don't suppose you'd let me down there in a tunic and leggings?"

"It's not about what I'll allow, Lady Alora. You could wear what you prefer for all I care. But for formal meals and events, the queen expects attire befitting your station. You are to be queen, after all."

"You're quite bold for a lady's maid speaking to the future queen," I said with mock haughtiness, watching her reaction.

A blush crept up her golden neck as she bowed, "I'm sorry, I meant no offense."

"Please, I was only teasing. You're far more pleasant company than our stern friend who brought you here." I smiled at her from the mirror as Luella began to fix my hair. She wove a golden headpiece into my long locks, leaving the rest tumbling down my shoulders in dark curls.

"I try not to be quite so rigid." She surveyed her work and smiled approvingly. "Please don't repeat what you said to her face. She'll make your life hell here."

"Let her try. I prefer your company anyway."

"We should hurry before you're late." She opened my chamber door, gesturing for me to lead. I nearly collided with a wall of armor. Looking up, I met the stern gaze of a guard, his brows drawn together beneath steel-grey hair, a matching mustache framing his firm mouth. "My lady, this is Magnus Thane, your appointed guard. He and I will accompany you from now on."

Magnus Thane bowed deeply, his steely eyes meeting my gaze, "My life and blade are yours, Lady Alora." His expression remained stoic as he straightened, betraying nothing but years of practiced formality.

Magnus followed us quietly as we made our way to the dining hall. With Luella leading the way, I arrived before I was beyond fashionably late. The royal family was seated at the grand table. The king and queen sat at its head with their sons flanking them like golden sentinels. Upon my entry, Oryn and Davian rose. I continued forward, questioning where I should sit. My bond pulsed with an urgent need to go to Ryn, who was taking measured steps towards me, sunlight catching in his golden hair like flames dancing across a morning sky. His presence filled theroom like summer heat, and my skin prickled with awareness of every step he took closer.

"Lor, sit with me!" Davian called out eagerly. Ryn's head snapped to his younger brother, muscles tensing like a lion preparing to strike.

"It's her first meal with us and you're already trying to steal my wife from me?" Ryn's voice carried a dangerous edge beneath its playful tone.

"She's not your wife yet," Davian crossed his arms like a petulant child. "Besides, she was my friend first. You hardly know her."

"Hardly know her-" Ryn caught himself before he could say more. A flush crept up his neck. Ah, Oryn hadn't told his family about our night in the tavern. At least I could mark the story I imagined in the paper about me targeting him out of my growing list of negative possibilities. "When did you meet her?"

"She's the one who saved me. Her and Raven."

At the sound of his name, I missed the steed. I made a mental note to check on him. Last I heard, he was behaving as much as he could at the town's stables. The old warhorse was a survivor, but knowing him, the stable hands were probably too terrified to complain.

So you're the one I should thank for my brother's safe return. The Fates seem determined to entwine our paths, Love.Ryn's voice slid like honey through our bond. A hint of jealousy marked his tone. Even with his brother's innocence, my mate's possessive nature flared.

"You're the one who found Davian?" The queen's voice cut through the tension.

Ryn's fingers found mine as he led me towards the seat beside him. He pulled my chair out with practiced grace and settled me forward once I was seated. His chair scraped closer to mine as he sat, his thigh brushing against my skirts.

"I did. When I came into town to help my uncle, I stopped at a stream for water and found him in a bush, dirty and half-starved."

"Thank you for bringing him home," the queen said, her voice carrying the practiced warmth of someone who'd mastered the art of royal gratitude. Just as quickly as she'd engaged me in conversation, she returned her attention to the plate before her. Davian slumped in his seat across from me, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that reminded me he was still more boy than prince.

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