Twelve days.
The countdown was no longer a distant threat; it was a physical weight pressing down on Kaia's chest, making every breath feel shallow and panicked.
"More passion! You look like two marble statues waiting to be dusted!"
Monsieur Laurent, the most sought-after and deeply eccentric portrait artist in the Empire, waved his paint-stained brush in the air with dramatic despair.
Kaia was perched on a velvet chaise lounge in the center of the sunlit Solarium. She was wearing a breathtaking, off-the-shoulder gown of spun silver and sapphire silk. Prince Beckett stood behind the chaise, his hand resting stiffly on Kaia's bare shoulder.
They had been holding this pose for two agonizing hours.
"I am projecting passion, Monsieur," Beckett defended weakly, his silver-grey eyes darting toward Captain Thorne, who stood rigidly by the door. "I am practically vibrating with it."
