He was currently staring down his worst nightmare.
Sitting behind an ornate, child-sized oak desk in the center of the library was Seraphina.
She was wearing a lovely, modest beige dress, her dark hair neatly combed, her hands folded perfectly on the polished wood. She looked like the absolute picture of angelic, aristocratic innocence.
Alistair knew better.
He knew she was a feral, glitter-wielding, pastry-stealing goblin who had glued a holographic unicorn to his face just twenty-four hours prior.
When Kaelus had casually announced over breakfast that Alistair would serve as the Sovereign's temporary tutor until a suitable academic professional could be vetted, Alistair had genuinely considered throwing himself into the reflection pool.
He had begged, cited his workload, even pointed out that he was a geopolitical economist, not a babysitter.
