The morning arrived far too peacefully for Elara's liking.
That alone should have been her first warning.
Nothing good ever came from peaceful mornings in Arameor. Peaceful mornings were merely the gods taking a deep breath before throwing another disaster directly at her face.
Elara stood before the large mirror in Kaelis' chambers as Madame Tilda adjusted the final clasp on her gown.
The poison had left her body days ago, but weakness still lingered stubbornly in her bones.
Not enough to stop her.
Enough to annoy her.
Which was arguably worse.
"Stop moving."
"I'm literally standing still."
"You have moved seven times."
"That's slander."
Madame Tilda pinched the bridge of her nose.
Across the room, Kaelis sat behind his desk pretending to read reports.
Pretending.
Because every few seconds his gaze lifted from the parchment and landed directly on Elara.
Not subtly.
Not discreetly.
Like a man watching the last bottle of water in a desert.
