The day of the rehearsal dawned gray and damp, a perfect mirror for my mood. I was woken not by Eliot, but by a soft chime that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, a sound I'd never heard before. It was pleasant, insistent, and utterly infuriating. It was the sound of a schedule I didn't control.
Eliot was already in my room, laying out a suit that wasn't the formal wedding attire, but was close enough to be miserable. It was a deep charcoal gray, stiff and formal, with too many buttons.
"Morning," he said, his voice neutral. "The Duke requests your presence in the Grand Hall. For the rehearsal."
"Of course he does," I muttered, swinging my legs out of bed. "Couldn't let me go into my own public humiliation without a dry run, could he?"
"It's about ensuring everything proceeds smoothly," Eliot said, which was the exact bullshit phrase Lady Anya had used yesterday. "No surprises."
