And then Phei had laughed, teased, protected, spoiled her just from watching him, touched her gently, and become an inconvenience to an entire worldview she had spent centuries polishing.
Rude boy.
Sweet boy.
Dangerous boy.
Her boy?
Consort froze at the thought.
Then slowly, carefully, she pressed both hands over her burning face and slid sideways onto the bed like a defeated creature.
"No," she whispered.
The room said nothing.
The flowers on the desk looked judgmental when she peeked at them through her fingers. "You were bought for air quality." Not to judge her.
The flowers, being flowers, refused to defend themselves.
Consort turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Outside, rain continued its soft descent over Ashford stone, and inside her humble chamber, the Head Maid of the One Above lay perfectly still, trying very hard not to smile.
She failed.
