SERAPHINE POV
Okay, listen—I fully expected the high mages to be arrogant, chin‑high, nose‑in‑the‑clouds, "we‑are‑ancient‑and‑powerful" type of people.
What I did not expect was…
Them circling me like desperate honor‑students begging the class valedictorian for notes.
I mean—
Really?
Really?
These men who supposedly "hold the arcane foundations of the kingdom" were asking me about basic herb temperature control, why I used grass, and what kind of stirring angle I preferred.
They were literally scribbling on their enchanted notebooks like:
"Lady Seraphine, what brand of grass?"
"Lady Seraphine, clockwise or counterclockwise?"
"Lady Seraphine, should the pot feel warm or emotionally warm?"
I wanted to die on the spot.
They looked like toddlers asking the moon how it shines.
And then—oh boy—
They invited me to the mage tower.
Not with a carriage.
Not with a walking escort.
No.
They whipped out a TELEPORTATION STONE.
