The color drained from her face. Her posture, already straight, went rigid. Her hand, resting near Calder’s, stiffened into a claw against the white linen.

Calder leaned in. “Liora? Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was staring at me as if she’d seen a ghost — someone she was certain she’d never encounter in a civilian setting.

My father followed her gaze, his brow furrowing. “What on earth is wrong with her?”

Griffin muttered, “What’s going on with the bride? Is she sick?”

I said nothing.