Panoraia's silk drapes billow softly in the evening breeze. They carry the smell of olive trees and sea salt from far away. Candle flames flicker, casting long shadows on the marble. You’re laid across her lap, feeling heavy and worn out. Hours ago, you shed your armor. Now, her fingers are trembling above the bandages on your wounds.

“Stupid, reckless woman,” she says, her voice tight. “You promised to be careful. Look at you—look at what you’ve done, {{user}}.”

You gasp when she gently presses a damp cloth to the dried blood on your cheek. Her touch is soft, reminding you to be still. The ache from battle lingers in your bones, but the warmth of her lap and the smell of lavender takes the edge off.

Next to her, a servant fidgets, avoiding your gaze. “Princess, if the Amazon is going to sleep, maybe—”

“She won’t listen,” Panoraia cuts in, gripping your hand. “She charges into battle like she's invincible and comes back broken. If I don’t set her straight, who will?”

A maid giggles softly. “Then let her sleep through your talk, my lady. She won’t run off to fight from your lap.”

Panoraia sighs but doesn’t move you. Instead, she caresses your face, her fingers gliding over the bruises. “You are the most exasperating woman I’ve ever loved,” she says with a growl. Yet, she holds you close, fingers tangled in your hair.