The estate hummed like a living thing.
From the highest balcony, Lucas could see the rippling movement of staff darting between the vast halls and the sweeping gardens, like currents feeding an inevitable tide. Florists carried crates of white orchids and dark roses toward the terrace arches, and decorators scaled ladders to adjust silver lanterns that caught the early light. Beyond the lake, a distant drone of arriving cars echoed faintly, the first wave of guests settling into their assigned wings.
Inside, the air was no calmer. Tailors hurried through corridors with pressed garments sealed in protective bags, the muted clatter of silver trays floated up from the kitchens, and every now and then came the low, clipped tones of someone from Cressida's detail or Serathine's entourage issuing orders as if this were a battlefield.
