Her mother and sister couldn't help but gawk at the paintings lining the gilded corridor. Portraits of long-dead nobles stared back, their jeweled frames catching the golden light of the chandeliers above. Both women tried, pitifully, to feign composure—as though castles like this were nothing worth blinking at—but their eyes betrayed them. Every shimmer of gold, every flicker of a crystal pendant made them gasp softly, their lashes fluttering like nervous birds.
Mrs. Crestmont was nearly trembling with self-importance when she noticed the glances that followed Serena. A handful of young seraphs, their white eyes sharp and assessing, had turned their heads in her direction. With pride swelling her chest, Mrs. Crestmont leaned toward her daughter and whispered, her voice syrupy and loud enough for several others to hear,
