The sun is softer now, the afternoon settling into that gentle golden hour glow that makes the garden look like something out of a painting. I stand beside Queen Iris as we stroll back from the roses, walking slowly toward the palace entrance where her attendants wait.
It was supposed to be just tea. Polite, formal tea. Instead, it turned into…
Well. Sweaty princes and hand kisses and emotional bonding.
Not what I planned for my morning.
Queen Iris glances at me with that serene, unreadable expression of hers—one part regal, one part amused aunt. "You seem thoughtful, Seraphina."
I keep my voice calm. "Your Majesty, I was merely reflecting on our conversation."
Internally, I'm thinking: Reflecting. Yes. On your son kneeling dramatically and kissing my hand like I'm some epic heroine. And the way my entire soul almost left my body when he smiled.
Nero hums lazily. [Mhmm. Reflecting. That's definitely what we're calling it.]
I mentally shove him off a cliff.
