The war council table had been repurposed.
Instead of maps and battle plans, it was now covered with fabric samples, flower arrangements, and seating charts that seemed to multiply like rabbits. Lysa stood at one end, a clipboard in her hands, her expression that of a general preparing for battle. Lady Ashworth sat at the other end, representing the conservative nobles who insisted on traditional elements. Lord Pemberton hovered nearby, offering unsolicited advice.
The triplets surrounded the table. Kael looked like he would rather face another northern invasion. Theron was examining a flower arrangement with the expression of someone who had just discovered a new species of poison. Aeron sat rigidly, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.
Seren sat in the middle, trying not to laugh.
"The processional," Lysa said, tapping her clipboard. "Traditional wolf weddings have the groom waiting at the altar while the bride walks alone. We have three grooms."
