Calienne's gaze swept across the curling vines, brittle frost patches, and moss-laced stones as though she were inspecting a peasant's parlor. The woman before her, this Aylin, bore no resemblance to the rumors. She was plain by the court's beauty standards, forgettable even, and lacked the noble polish Calienne had hoped for. A smirk tugged at her lips. There was no reason to worry about this girl. She looked like a passing indulgence, not the Tsar's chosen mate.
"This is where you were brought?" she asked, voice sharp with disbelief. "I imagined something a little more… refined for a Tsar's indulgences."
Aylin followed her gaze across the unmanicured hedges and dark, damp earth. Vines crawled over broken stone walls, and frost clung to the low bushes like silver lace. The garden had been cleared of debris, but it had yet to bloom. It was still sleeping, still waiting.
