The imperial garden was bathed in warm sunlight, the air rich with the scent of Lippe tea and blooming flowers. Claude de Alger Obelia sat in his designated seat, golden hair catching the light, sharp blue eyes fixed on the approaching figures.

Athanasia walked ahead, golden curls bouncing, her expression bright. Beside her, Jennette followed with her usual warm smile, chatting as if the world itself welcomed her presence. Claude barely spared the girl a glance. She was insignificant to him, tolerated only because Athanasia wished it.

The table was set for three. Two seats were placed closely together—one for him, one for Athanasia. The third, noticeably distant, was meant for Jennette. The arrangement was clear. Athanasia, even now, gravitated toward him, while Jennette remained at the edges, where she belonged.

Claude would have preferred this tea party without an unnecessary guest, but he had agreed without complaint. If Athanasia wanted it, then so be it.

As she neared, their eyes met. His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his gaze—something only Athanasia ever seemed to notice. Without a word, he reached for his tea, watching as she settled beside him.

Jennette took her distant seat.

That, at least, was as it should be.