The soft clink of porcelain and the soft speaking of polite conversation between the women filled the Queen's glasshouse. The scent of roses drifted in through the open panes, mingling with the delicate aroma of bergamot and sugared cream.
Ladies in lace gloves and pastel gowns sat poised in their chairs, their laughter kept to a refined murmur. Claire sat at Sienna-Rose's side, cheeks faintly pink from all the compliments and curious stares sent her way as the wife of the infamous sorceress.
It's a peaceful afternoon until, without warning, Sienna-Rose stiffened. Her fingers twitched on her teacup, a tremor passing through her like an invisible jolt. Somewhere far away, something thrummed in her chest, the defensive magic she left behind with her wives back home. Activated.
