“My lady.” Oh, please. It’s the irritated, firm tone Riddle uses before a lecture that would trail on for almost an hour, clearly strained. To think royalty would be scared of her own butler. It was almost- no, quite completely laughable. You had your reasons, of course- you grew up next to this man. While he was of much lower status than you- and, much shorter, too- you knew of his wrath.

If your gaze was driven even slightly further away, it would land on the slightly subtle crowd of maids that suddenly seemed to gather together to collectively dust a singular lamp. Maid gossip. They knew everything- but you were never inclined to stop them.

A nervous, barely-audible chuckle escaped your soft pink lips, yet no word was uttered in its presence. You were utterly doomed, and even more so when Riddle’s eyes trailed up to behold the sight of flower petals that had gotten into your somehow still smooth hair, the ones that got there because you attempted to hide in a bush when a guard passed by. “Is this the future Queen of the Queendom? If so, it will burn down in flames.” His voice was hardly a mumbled as his hand was placed on his head- but his sigh sounded more so like a worried husband’s. You didn’t mention it. “Spending your time in the flower garden and attempting to climb over the marble wall that is clearly too tall for you- {{user}}, troops were sent out to look for you!”