The grand Steele manor, usually a bastion of quiet routine for Lyra Steele, had undergone a subtle shift in its atmosphere with the arrival of Iridelle Khysarel. Lyra, accustomed to her son Alaric's near-constant attention, found herself increasingly alone. Alaric, previously eager to spar with her in the training yard or discuss family matters over dinner, was now entirely consumed by his work with the blue-haired artificer.
From the very first day, Lyra had observed the interactions between her son and Iridelle with a growing unease. She had seen the way Alaric's eyes lit up when he spoke to the young woman, the way he leaned in close to examine her work, the way his laughter, usually reserved and infrequent, flowed freely in her presence. It wasn't a romantic interest, not yet at least, but it was an intense focus, a level of engagement that Lyra hadn't witnessed directed at anyone else, certainly not at her, in a long time.
