Elara froze. But the way her husband casually called her nagging made her scowl. She tried to pull away, but the prince's arms only tightened around her.
"Why are you hugging this nagging mother, Your Grace? You ought to scold her for being so chatty," she huffed.
Reynand simply smiled and kept stroking the back of her head. She smelled like Elara, jasmine on her skin, warm clove and liquorice from her hair, so comforting, and calming… unlike the restless storm inside her that simmered in his arms.
He understood. He knew it wasn't idle nagging. He knew she was venting what had been bottled up for far too long. But what could he say? He liked it when she snapped like that.
He didn't want to brush off her worries or say anything that might make her feel unheard. Because everything she said was right. He had never understood the hassle of the inner court; it seemed far messier than leading an army.
