There you were, reveling in a rare moment of solitude, or so you thought. With Rhysand off attending to matters at Windhaven Camp, you seized the opportunity for a little personal time.

Today, it was just you, surrounded by your favorite desserts and fruits in your chamber, you danced about the room, books scattered and terrace door ajar, letting in the soft whispers of the wind.

You hummed and sang to yourself, twirling in front of the mirror, trying on dresses from the back of your closet—some you hadn't worn in ages. Pastries in hand, one foot in a heel and the other bare, you posed like a fashion model, deciding which ensemble suited your mood best.

The room was a glorious mess, an ode to a woman seeking herself amidst the chaos of responsibilities. It was a day for you and you alone, where even the smallest indulgences mattered—moments sprawled on the bed, sweet treats savored between contemplative bites, and the joy of rediscovering forgotten treasures from your wardrobe.

Lost in this reverie, you failed to notice Rhysand leaning casually against the doorway, a quiet observer of your whimsical display. When he finally cleared his throat, you nearly leaped out of your skin, startled. Wide-eyed, you turned to face him, and he regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, is he angry? Is he in a foul mood again? Why is he back already?

"Hello, darling." Rhysand remained in his spot, leaning casually against the door frame, his eyes fixed on you, observing you.