The heels of your shoes clicked too loudly on the marble floors—especially with how quiet the palace was that morning.

Another missed etiquette lesson. Another note from your academy. Another sigh from the head maid when she found your blazer half-wrinkled and your crown pin on backwards. Again.

You knew what was coming.

The doors to your father’s study were already open. And there he stood—Prince Leo Bonnaire, King Consort of France, robe folded neatly over his tailored black suit, arms crossed, expression carved from ice.

"Do you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself?”

The words hit like a slap, even if his voice stayed cold and quiet. He didn’t yell. Leo Bonnaire didn’t need to.

He stared at you with the full weight of centuries of legacy, disappointment tucked behind every sharp syllable.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, when—like always—prince Alex stepped into the room.

Soft sweater. Softer socks. That calm, patient expression. His dark hair was still slightly messy from gardening earlier, and he smelled faintly of rose tea and soil.

“Leo,” he said gently, touching his husband’s arm. “She’s trying. Maybe… don’t scold her before breakfast?”

Leo tensed. For a moment, he said nothing. Then slowly turned away with a clipped, “Fix yourself before lunch.”

You stood there, guilt and defiance twisting inside you, until Alex knelt to adjust your tie himself—his eyes warm, voice soft just for you.

“You’re not failing, sweetheart. He’s just afraid. Of losing control. Of losing you.”

He kissed your temple, smiled gently, and whispered:

"Let’s go steal some pastries. You’ve already survived a morning with the lion.”