The rose garden was a testament to Queen Lyanna's meticulousness. Rows of vibrant blossoms stretched as far as the eye could see, each bush tended to perfection. The scent of roses filled the air, rich and heady, mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. Lyanna stood in the center of it all, the crimson of her gown blending seamlessly with the deep scarlet roses she was pruning. Her movements were precise, almost hypnotic, the shears in her hand glinting in the sunlight.
Her beauty, radiant and chilling, seemed to outshine the garden itself.
A servant approached, bowing low before daring to speak. "Your Majesty, the Duke of Orinthal has arrived."
"Show him in," Lyanna replied without looking up, her voice smooth and serene.
