A Surprise at the Table
"Welcome, Lady Natasha. Lady Sona."
Nova's voice boomed through the courtyard like a sword covered in velvet—smooth and silky, yet with the steel of determination underneath.
Natasha and Sona stood still for a moment when they heard it. They raised their eyes to her, and stunned quiet ran across their faces.
This was not the Nova they had known.
The woman they recalled—the Duchess of Blackthorn—had been a hard woman, battle-seasoned, face normally chiseled from stone. She was the kind whose smile was rarer than snow in midsummer. And here she was standing before them, green eyes unflinching, lips curled with something unmistakable: a smile.
