Caspian returned with the sewing kit as if he were bearing the Crown Jewels to a coronation.
It was a magnificent box of inlaid mahogany, filled with spools of silk thread in every conceivable shade of "Aristocratic Ennui." He placed it on the tea table with a trembling hand, rattling the china.
"The kit, Your Highness," Caspian squeaked. "Needles sharp enough to… er… pierce the soul."
"Excellent," Aeron said, not looking at his valet. His silver eyes were fixed on Kaia. "Lady Kaia, please. Repair your dignity."
Kaia glared at him. The room was silent. Victoria was watching her with the intensity of a hawk circling a wounded field mouse. Beckett was staring at the ceiling, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a funeral dirge.
"I can fix it in my chambers," Kaia said, reaching for the box.
"Nonsense," Victoria snapped. "Do it here. It will demonstrate your domestic skills. A future Princess must be able to handle a crisis."
