SERAPHINE POV
Two. Whole. Weeks.
Two weeks of banquets, balls, noble soirées, mage-tower experiments, potion demonstrations, royal brunches, wine tastings, lunch meetings, dinner banquets, midnight gatherings, I swear if I see one more wine glass, I will personally drown myself in a barrel of grape juice and ascend to the heavens as a fermented ghost.
And now? Early morning? Summoned to the royal council room? Perfect. Lovely. Exactly what my exhausted, sleep-deprived, banquet-traumatized soul needed.
I dragged myself inside, Coffi trailing behind me with her deadly weapon pouch (aka: sandwiches). My eyes were half‑open, hair pinned up in a messy bun, and if anyone asked me one more question about "potions that can cure noble hangovers" I was going to commit a diplomatic incident.
