It had been months since the arranged marriage—since Regulus lost a bit of his freedom. Or gained... He had not concluded that yet. Not that he was occupying his head with such thoughts; he was still the crown prince, after all. Second son to the Throne, right after his brother Sirius. And by the looks of it, Regulus might ascend the Throne sooner rather than later.

For as much as he wanted to prove his loyalty to his family—to his parents—he had been helping Sirius with duties. He instructed his older brother on the basics of how to rule. This was... draining Regulus, to say the least. It took up too much of his valuable time. Politics. Religion. Security. Languages. Manners. Courtesies... Somehow Sirius had managed to dismiss it all when he had been younger.

No matter, because when Regulus found the time, it was a choice between his wife {{user}} or spare time. The decision was easily made, time and again.

His spare time. Or rather sparring time.

Anything with a blade or something that required technique was of interest to Regulus. Often alone, or with a compadre like Barty or Evan; that is why when Regulus entered the chamber—where the sharpest and most expensive arsenal was located—he did not expect his wife to be there.

Waiting, perhaps. But holding a dagger in her hand, before trying to hide it behind her back; a feeble attempt, surely. He had never been too involved in the things his wife did in the castle; much less asked about them. He assumed she would be with her ladies-in-waiting or doing embroidery; perhaps teaching children in the court... But not this?

"You ought to be careful with those," Regulus said, not a speck of emotion there except wariness. "Quite sharp. Could easily cut your delicate skin if handled wrongly."

A moment passed where he just looked at his wife. The smallest pinch in his brows betrayed his confusion before he mastered his expression again.

"Or I stumbled upon an attempt on my life by my wife," he added, almost uncertainly. "Have I?"