Chloe.
I had precisely twenty-three seconds of peace that morning before Seraphina kicked open my door and marched in like a general with a very pink battle plan.
"Get up," she said, throwing a dress onto my bed. It was pastel. There were ruffles. I recoiled on instinct.
"No," I mumbled into my pillow.
"Yes," she said, louder. "You promised me."
"I did not."
"You did. You nodded when I told you yesterday."
"That wasn't a nod, that was a sneeze."
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "Chloe, we are going on a picnic. You, me, and Rhys. And you're going to wear this dress, eat strawberries, and smile like you're not secretly plotting to set fire to the monarchy."
"Sounds fake."
She yanked the covers off me.
I screamed like a banshee and immediately began bargaining with the gods.
Ten minutes later, I was being shoved into something floral while two maids tried not to laugh and Seraphina picked out earrings like this was a royal banquet.
"I don't even like the sun," I muttered.
"You're always brooding in dark hallways," she said. "Today you will frolic. I don't care if it kills you."
"I'm the Crown Princess. I don't frolic."
"You do now."
To be fair, the picnic was... fine.
The palace gardens had been arranged with dramatic flair—blankets, parasols, cushions, little crystal trays of fruit and sweets. I counted no fewer than seven types of cheese. Rhys showed up fashionably late and dramatically over-dressed in a half-undone button-down and sunglasses like we were in the south of France and not aggressively mid-summer in Veylinthia.
"Wow," I said. "Did we teleport to a luxury vineyard, or are you just desperate for attention?"
"I'm your brother," he said, lying down beside the wine. "I was born for attention."
Seraphina looked radiant, of course, in a lilac sundress and too many rings. She popped a grape into her mouth and sighed. "Isn't this better than sulking indoors all day?"
I paused. I hated to admit it... but the sun did feel kind of nice. Not too hot. Just warm enough to sink into my skin. The garden smelled like wildflowers and sugar. No one was arguing. No one was declaring war.
It was... quiet.
Peaceful.
We talked about everything and nothing. Seraphina gossiped about the noble girls she claimed were "plotting to seduce their way into Kieran's favor." Rhys swore one of them had tried to corner him in the stables, mistaking him for our groom. I nearly choked on my wine.
"So," Rhys said casually after a lull, "how's the whole engagement-to-a-war-prince thing going?"
I raised a brow. "Careful. That war prince can hear fear."
"I'm not scared of him."
"You're terrified of him."
He took a long sip of wine. "A little bit, yeah."
"I think he's hot," Seraphina added.
"I think you need to stop speaking."
She laughed. "Admit it. There's something about him. The way he looks at you. It's kind of... intense."
"He looks at everyone like he's considering whether they'd taste better grilled or raw."
"That's what makes it fun."
I rolled my eyes. "You're both deranged."
But I was smiling.
Sometime after lunch, I wandered away from the blankets to stretch my legs. There was a little patch of wild roses blooming near the hedge maze. I crouched beside them, fingers brushing petals that felt like velvet.
A shadow passed over me.
"You wandered off," said a voice behind me.
I didn't turn around. "Maybe I was escaping."
Kieran stepped into view, dressed in black again like he was contractually obligated to contrast every pastel in my wardrobe. His coat was unbuttoned at the throat. No weapons in sight, but somehow he still looked dangerous.
"From what?" he asked.
I shrugged. "People. Questions. Reality."
"Effective strategy. Gardens are underrated."
"You've been watching me," I said, glancing up at him.
His expression didn't change. "Yes."
I blinked. "You're supposed to lie about that."
"I don't lie well."
"Then learn. It's part of courtship."
"I don't court. I claim."
My breath caught.
Not in fear.
In... whatever that twisted, electric thing was that happened whenever he got too close and said something entirely inappropriate in a tone that sounded like a promise.
I stood.
He didn't move.
We were nearly eye to eye.
"You're enjoying this," I said.
He tilted his head. "I'm enjoying you."
My cheeks burned.
I was about to come up with a reply—witty, maybe, or scathing—when I heard the sound of high heels stabbing through grass.
Oh no.
Mirelle.
She wore pink. She always wore pink. This time it was a sheer chiffon number that clung to her like desperation. Her hair was curled within an inch of its life, and her smile could've peeled paint off a cathedral.
"There you are, your highness," she purred, eyes fixed on Kieran like I wasn't even present. "We were just talking about you at the pavilion."
"We?" I asked, stepping slightly in front of him.
She ignored me.
Kieran didn't.
His gaze slid over her like a sword returning to its sheath—quick, clean, unimpressed.
"Lady Mirelle," he said.
She simpered. "You remember my name."
"It's hard to forget a sound that sharp."
I nearly laughed.
Mirelle didn't.
"I thought perhaps you'd like to join us for tea," she said, placing a hand on his arm.
He didn't flinch.
He just looked at the hand.
And then looked at her.
The silence stretched.
"I have no interest in tea," he said coldly.
"I make excellent conversation."
"You don't," he replied simply. "And I dislike repetition."
Mirelle blinked.
I smiled sweetly. "He means you talk too much."
Seraphina's voice came from behind her. "Oh my gods, this is better than theatre."
Mirelle stepped back, face flushing.
Kieran didn't offer an apology. He didn't look at her again.
He was already looking at me.
"Shall we return to the garden?" he asked, as if nothing had happened.
Seraphina practically skipped forward, clutching her phone like it was the Holy Grail.
"Oh my gods," she whispered loudly, eyes wide. "Tell me someone recorded that. No? Just me? Perfect."
She tapped furiously on the screen.
"Are you... posting it?" I asked.
"Of course I am," she said. "And I'm sending it to Rhys. He deserves joy."
"Seraphina."
"What? He's bored! My Tiktok needs a boost and Mirelle needs to be humbled at least once a week for skin maintenance. It's practically dermatological."
Mirelle spun around with a glare.
Seraphina just gave her a closed-mouth smile and went back to typing.