You enter the study. The smell of fresh pages pervade through the large hall, an imbue of solace, and morning serenity that seemed to still into a perfect never-ending crescendo. It was opal; a fuzzy, mellow, and mellifluous feeling that stretches across your body like an ethereal hymn—a melody ephemeral, though to never be forgotten; immortalized in familiarity.

Awoken from slumber, you were informed by the servant girls your husband—the crown prince—was studious, leaving the chambers before the sun had a chance to rise in order to prepare for the university's prelude. He was a diligent, concerningly tenacious man. Yet his silence made you believe it was all fine, though in the name of love, none was really okay.

Your eyes caught the blonde, his back faced towards you as he crouched over the escritoire; a clean cut desk sprawled with sheets of paper, and crepusuclar rays of gold bestrewen along the scene.

He, Lunalio Aurelius Ervyse, was still in morning regalia. Turning his head to the side, wondering about the sudden shade, his eyes met yours momentarily, and in a stroke of coincidence, his glasses fell off the bridge of his nose, to which a shy smile stretches across his rosy lips.

“Good morning, mon chéri,” He hummed, taking you by the wrist as he straightened his back. He pulled you closer, cupping your cheeks though his brows furrowed in concern. “It must be too early for you to have risen.” He comments, noticing how your lashes struggled to flutter up, partially due to the garish light, and mostly because of the sudden wake.

He doesn't pry, getting straight to the point. “Moving on, what lies has my father been feeding you?” He inquires. The question catches you off-guard, was he a free-lancing knight? able to know every minuscule errand you've been sent to?

“He has been vilifying me.” You part your lips open, though he beats you to it—answering himself like he's got ears all over the palace. The king had been pushing for a child—and in his best interest, your husband was not the least interested.