Kaia Taryn was beginning to suspect that the primary function of the Royal Family was to ensure she never, ever slept.
She sat in the morning room, attempting to reconstruct her sanity over a cup of black coffee. Her fingers were sore—not from the piano keys, but from how hard she had gripped the edge of the bench while Aeron whispered filth into her ear. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the phantom brush of his thumb against her breast, a ghost touch that made her shiver even in the morning sun.
"You are twitching," Victoria observed, buttering a scone with the precision of a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
"I am vibrating with artistic energy," Kaia muttered. "The music... it lingers."
"It certainly lingered last night," Victoria said, her voice cool. "Your tempo was erratic. And the way you slammed the final chord... it lacked finesse, Kaia. It sounded less like a conclusion and more like a structural collapse."
