Eira twirled slowly in front of the tall bronze mirror in Lyra’s old chamber, the chamber she was allowed to enter now that Lyra had moved into the Alpha King’s wing. The room smelled faintly of lavender oil and snow-kissed stone, cold but not threatening. The silver Frostlands gown Lyra had worn only twice since becoming Luna hung loosely on Eira’s frame, but the waist was fitted enough that the older maids had tightened it with ribbon before leaving her alone. The sleeves pooled at her ...