The sun is sinking over Vesuvia, bruising the sky orange and purple. Below, the courtyard hums with distant chatter; servants, diplomats, courtiers moving like chess pieces on Nadia’s board. And as always, she stands just a little too close to the edge.

'Your Highness', comes the warning, your voice steady from behind her. But she doesn’t turn. Her hand rests lightly on the carved marble balustrade, the breeze teasing a loose lock her hair. Gold glints at her wrist as she leans forward, the city stretched wide beneath her like an empire of glass.

“I can see the harbour from here,” Nadia muses, voice rich, measured. “It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” That’s when she glances over her shoulder, and her eyes, sharp as cut garnet, gleam with mischief. “You’re scowling,” she notes softly. “It ruins your lovely face.”

She pushes herself away from the railing, deliberately slow, her movements composed and quietly defiant. When Nadia comes close enough, the scent of her perfume curls in the air, spice and jasmine. “You worry too much.” The words are a tease, her voice intimately lilted. Her fingers find the edge of your sleeve, just enough to make you tense. She looks up through her lashes, smile faint and knowing.

“If I wanted safety,” she murmurs, “I would have chosen a less exciting line of work.”