Morning light followed us down the corridor, pale and dignified against the stone walls. My steps were steady now, the earlier embarrassment tucked away beneath silk and composure.
Nero hummed.
[Behold. From blanket burrito to Crown Princess in under an hour. Impressive recovery.]
Quiet.
We entered the dining hall.
Father was already seated at the table, spectacles low on his nose, a newspaper spread wide in his hands. Mum sat beside him, teacup poised delicately, though the smile she wore was far too knowing to be innocent.
Elias stood near the window, speaking softly with a servant before dismissing him.
When I stepped fully into the room, Mum's smile widened.
Father did not look up immediately.
"Bold of you two," he said dryly from behind the paper.
Heat rushed to my face.
"Alaric," Mum scolded lightly.
"What?" Father lowered the paper just enough to peer at us.
Mum reached over and swatted his arm. "We said no being irrational."
