Islinda stood in the center of her room, surrounded by a swarm of handmaidens who fussed over her like bees around a flower. She hadn't slept a wink the night before; her mind had been plagued with endless worries and thoughts. The day had barely begun to break when the train of servants rushed in, insisting that they were there to prepare her for the wedding.
It all felt like a surreal dream, a whirlwind of activity she couldn't quite grasp. If she hadn't gotten used to being undressed and prepped in front of strangers during her time at Aldric's palace, she would have been horrified. But Islinda had grown accustomed to it, her skin now numb to the sensation of scrutiny as the servants stripped her bare.
