Chris spent the better part of the next half hour pretending he wasn't shaking. He'd already been kissed senseless by a king wrapped in a towel. That should have been the apex of humiliation, where any self-respecting person would pack up their dignity and flee the country. He liked it in the end and decided to accept whatever was going to happen between them from now on.
But somehow, fate decided to double down.
The scent of ironed silk hit him before the sight did. Hanna was waiting in the corridor near the tailoring hall, posture sharp enough to slice fabric. The way she looked at him, composed and politely furious, told him she'd already spoken to someone.
"Mr. Malek," she began, her voice a perfect imitation of civility. "I've just come from Lord Killian. His Majesty's order has been confirmed."
Chris blinked once, wary. "Which order?"
