Soren was waiting for her when she stepped out.
He stood straight-backed and still, the morning light drawing silver along the edge of his coat.
His posture was impeccable, every inch the diplomat, precise, elegant, self-contained, but the corner of his mouth tilted upward when he saw her. That familiar smirk, that infuriating, practiced charm that somehow still managed to look sincere.
He bowed slightly when she emerged, a glint of humor softening his poise.
His hand was extended, gloved, steady, the kind of gesture that could have belonged to a prince or a soldier or something in between.
Eris paused. Her expression didn't change, but the smallest flicker of amusement crossed her eyes as he spoke.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice threaded with that effortless charm he carried like a weapon.
She rolled her eyes, but the motion felt softer than she meant it to. "You never tire of this, do you?"
"Not when you keep giving me reasons to."
