Ezra
I practically sprinted down the hallway, my heart hammering against my chest as I put as much distance between myself and Allen as humanly possible. My face was still burning with pure humiliation. I could only imagine what that poor attendant was telling the rest of the staff right now, that the King of Aethelgard and his soon-to-be bride were practically devouring each other's faces on the bed, completely ignoring the sacred tradition of staying apart.
I finally reached the master fitting chamber, letting out a long breath to steady myself before pushing the doors open.
Inside, the room was buzzing with so much activity. Rolls of fine silk, and velvet, lined the walls, and a team of six royal tailors was busily arranging measuring tapes and sketchbooks. The head tailor, a middle-aged woman named Madam Vane with sharp eyes and an immaculate posture for her age, immediately turned toward me and bowed reverently.
