Adéolá poked a piece of toast with her brow furrowing as she chewed with skepticism.
"Why is your bread sweet?" she demanded, waving the fork at Adrien across the small kitchen table. "Why is everything sweet in this country? Even your butter tastes confused. Is it salt? Is it sugar? It does not know its identity."
Adrien sat across from her, his cap sitting backward on his head as he calmly chewed his food. After the chaotic morning he'd had—including running away from a naked princess and fighting for his life in a Target beauty aisle—he was far too exhausted to argue about dairy logistics.
"It's just regular butter, Princess," Adrien muttered, taking a sip of his black coffee. "Eat it or don't."
Adéolá let out a dramatic sigh, setting her fork down with a soft click. She leaned back against the chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I want you to marry me," she said casually.
Adrien took a sharp breath in—and completely inhaled his coffee.
