“You look like war wrapped in silk,” Lisa muttered as she pinned the last piece of Celeste’s braid into place.

Celeste gave her a look in the mirror. “Compliment or warning?”

Lisa smirked. “A little from column A, a little from ‘please don’t stab another envoy during tea.’”

Celeste rolled her eyes, rising to her feet with a practiced grace that belied the tightness in her ribs. “I didn’t stab him. I just reminded him why threatening me is a bad hobby.”

Lisa ...