After the fitting, Iris had asked Lan to follow her on a stroll through the imperial city. They dismissed the guards and took to the streets of the high district.
Slightly similar to the night they escaped it.
The towers of the city were like fangs around them—black and gold, spiked with lightning, pierced by floating crystal bridges and woven with banners that danced in the wind like the tongues of nobles mid-lie.
The sky above was bruised sapphire, thunderclouds crawling like watchful beasts far in the distance. And beneath it all, Lan walked beside a princess who would one day try to conquer it.
Iris was cloaked in midnight blue, trimmed with silver thread, a veil drawn loosely over her face.
Her eyes—storm-colored, as always—flicked to every shadow, every whisper, every passing gaze. She moved with purpose, even in silence. And Lan, for once, didn't speak first.
