chapter 2

Lyra

I observed chaos taking place all around me.

Maids hurried passed one another while yelling commands that I couldn't understand.

The huge bed, which I thought to be my bed, was covered with dresses of every hue and type of cloth.

Women moved around me, smoothing textiles against my skin, pulling at my hair, and making adjustments I wasn't even aware were necessary.

I had this room. It must have been. However, it didn't feel that way. The walls, which were painted in gentle creams with gold accents, were excessively tall.

Above me, the chandelier sparkled as if it were composed of stars. I had never owned a blanket as thick as the carpet.

Still, I was standing in the middle of everything, still wearing the same baggy sweater and faded jeans that I had on when they discovered me.

I still wasn't sure what was going on in the hours that had gone by. This might have been a dream.

Perhaps I had dozed off outside the orphanage gates and this was all in my imagination.

I let the sound fade into the distance and closed my eyes.

One of the stylists corrected me, "Miss Lyra, keep your head still," and firmly but kindly pushed my chin back into position.

I blinked slowly. "Poor girl. One of them whispered to the other, "She looks so confused.

" They were correct. Confused wasn't even close to expressing it.

"Can I… see my mother?" I asked gently after opening my lips and hesitated.

The women stopped and looked at each other for a few seconds in the mirror.

One of them echoed, "Mother?"

"Do you mean Victoria?" Slowly, I nodded. I thought she was my mom. I received a tight-lipped smile from the maid nearest me.

"Sweetie, your mother passed away a long while ago."

Oh.

That explained it. Victoria gave me that icy, aloof expression when we first met.

That was hardly the expression of a mother seeing her child again. I took a swallow.

"So… it’s just my father?" Just above a whisper, I inquired. They all nodded together.

"Yes, Mr. Richelieu. Gabriel." I pressed my mouth shut.

The man who spoke with such ease, as if he controlled everything. Another maid said,

"Don’t worry, dear," as she brushed the navy-blue dress's cloth against my body.

"This is a significant evening. You'll run across a lot of folks."

Fantastic. More people. That's exactly what I was afraid about.

"Why are they throwing this party?" Trying to speak steadily, I asked. They looked at each other once more as if they were unsure whether or not to respond.

"To announce your return," one of them remarked at last.

"The Richelieus want the world to know you’re back." Return.

As though I had been here before. As if I were supposed to be here. I didn't. However, it appeared that I had no other option.

My hair was pulled tighter by the hairdresser, who then woven it into an expensive and complicated pattern. I flinched.

"Beauty is pain," she said Indeed, this was like torture. Hours, or even minutes, flew by.

They ultimately decided on a gown for me that was heavy yet soft and hugged my figure in ways I wasn't accustomed to.

A lovely silver embroidery on navy blue silk. In the light, it shimmered. In the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. Was I meant to be like this now?

"Perfect," one of them said, taking a step back to look at their creation. I wasn't feeling beautiful.

The doors opened and Victoria walked in before I could ask her any more questions.

Her cool, piercing gaze fixed on me as her heels clicked hard against the marble floor.

She responded, "She’ll do," in a cold voice. No warmth. Not approved. Just an answer. "Come," she said, already pirouetting. I trailed behind, my legs tensed from the dress's weight.

The halls of the mansion were now much more frightening. From a great distance, a gentle melody mixed with the sounds of conversation and laughter.

Victoria took me to a huge balcony with a view of the magnificent ballroom.

The room below sprang to life. Under sparkling chandeliers, hundreds of individuals in dresses and tuxedos mixed together.

Waiters walked like shadows, holding champagne glasses on silver platters. Although it was gentle, the music had power. And he was at the heart of it all.

With an empty glass in his hand, he stood by himself close to the grand staircase.

I sensed his presence even from up here. tall. broad-shouldered. A few strands of his short, dark hair fell across his forehead.

However, I was caught by the scar. His left cheek was slashed with a sharp, cruel mark.

Others appeared to give him a wide berth, yet they were unable to keep their eyes off him.

He remained still. didn't say anything. The room, however, hunched over him.

"Who is that?" I leaned a little closer to Victoria and whispered. She narrowed her lips.

"Duke Whitethorn."

"And who is he to us?" Sharp as a knife, her eyes darted to mine. Carefully, "An ally," she said.

"For now." For the time being? Gabriel showed up next to Victoria, adjusting his cufflinks, before I could ask him any more questions.

"It’s time," he whispered. Victoria turned to face me after giving me one nod.

"Smile," she commanded. "Whether you want to or not."

Then she was gone, walking down the stairs with the elegance of a king. I was offered Gabriel's arm.

"Shall we, Lyra?" I accepted his arm despite having a dry mouth. The enormous staircase seemed to be getting heavier with each step.

Talk slowed. People turned. eyes. Many eyeballs. Only one pair, though, kept me still. Whitethorn's Duke.

Still. Unblinking. I couldn't take my eyes off it for some reason. And I swear that the corner of his mouth twitched, like a half-formed grin, for a little moment.

But before I knew for sure, it was gone.

The silence was broken by Gabriel's voice. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a hard, authoritative voice,

"let me reintroduce my daughter"

He gripped my hand tightly. "Lyra Richelieu."

The cheers were thunderous. All I could hear, though, was the soft buzz of Duke Whitethorn's eyes as they burned into me.

And I knew, somehow, my life is fucked