The final clasp clicked into place.
Jesse stood before the tall mirror of the temporary residence's dressing chamber, silent as the last ribbons were tied off behind her. Her gown shimmered—not ostentatiously, but with the subtle sheen of high-quality velvet dyed in deep indigo, almost black. Silver embroidery traced elegant, understated patterns across the sleeves and hem—symbols of unity and peace between empires, woven so finely they only caught the light when she moved.
It was a modest dress.
But it commanded attention.
The neckline was clean, conservative by Arcanis standards, but tailored to frame her shoulders with gentle strength. Her hair, swept back and twisted into an intricate braid-crest, left just enough fall to soften her expression, with a few strands kissed by loose curls to frame her face. Her eyes—already sharp by nature—had been carefully lined, shadowed not for glamor, but for impact. Depth. Presence.
She didn't look like a soldier.
