"I know," Julian laughed, walking right up to the grand oak desk. "But I figured the Empress Regent wouldn't arrest me for bringing her proper tea. I bribed the kitchen staff to use the imported leaves from the West. No plain hot water for you today."
He set the silver tray down right on top of a stack of resolved provincial reports.
Then, with entirely unearned audacity, Julian hopped up and sat casually on the edge of the massive oak desk, crossing his ankles and leaning forward.
Elara stared at him.
Her mind instantly superimposed the image of Mahir from the night before—sweating, desperate, and entirely submissive—over the current image of Julian sitting in the exact same spot, swinging his legs like a boy without a care in the world.
With Mahir, she had felt nothing but physical friction.
