The morning sun flooded the Royal Solarium, an extensive, glass-walled chamber overlooking the palace gardens.
The light was sharp, almost sterile, shining off the polished silver and crystal arrayed for breakfast.
Princess Viora entered, the lingering tension of her early-morning death-combat session rolling off her sleek, sweat-wicked training gear.
She had hoped for a quiet, energizing meal. Instead, she found the long table, set for a dozen, occupied by only one person.
Aphrodite. And she was the definition of draining, both literally and figuratively.
The woman Viora had, until recently, believed to be her sister, lounged in a plush chair, scrolling through an Omni-Pad.
She wore a dark dress that matched the color of her hair and did little to hide the generous curves straining against the delicate fabric.
A wave of perfect, raven-black hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face of goddess-like beauty.
