Octavia turned toward the entrance and felt her breath catch slightly, not from any political calculation or strategic assessment, but from pure aesthetic appreciation.
Lady Starfell was tiny. Perhaps five feet tall if she stood on her toes and prayed for divine intervention. But what she lacked in height, she made up for in sheer, undeniable presence.
Her hair was midnight black, falling in soft waves past her shoulders and catching the afternoon light like spun shadow.
Her face was heart-shaped and delicate, with features so perfectly proportioned they looked almost unreal. Large eyes, the color of dark amber, a small nose, and lips curved in a slight smile. This woman knew exactly what she was doing.
But it was her figure that made conversation falter in the nearby groups.
