Ines stood on the landing, her hand resting lightly on the banister.
She was wearing a gown of deep, shimmering silver. The fabric was heavy silk that flowed around her like liquid metal. The bodice was cut low, showing off her creamy skin, and the sleeves were sheer lace.
Her hair was piled high in an intricate arrangement of curls, woven with silver ribbons and small diamonds that caught the candlelight.
But it was her face that held Rowan's attention.
She looked calm. She looked regal. She looked like a woman who was confident about winning.
"I'm sorry, brother," Ines said. Her voice was calm and musical, drifting down the stairs. "My hair wasn't responsive. It decided to have a mind of its own tonight."
She began to descend. Step. Step. Step.
"But Edith has taken care of it," she added, reaching the bottom.
She held her mask in her hand. It was silver, matching her dress, adorned with white feathers that fanned out like the wings of a dove.
