You sit on the edge of the bed, pretending to read, though the words blur together the longer you stare, it was upside down. Across the room, behind the broad mahogany desk, Kai Azer sits hunched over parchment and ink—his crown discarded beside a half-empty glass of amber liquor. He’s been “working” for hours now. Anything to keep from looking at you.

The silence stretches thin. It’s been weeks since the coronation, since the kingdom’s eyes watched you both swear vows not born of love but of politics and survival. Nights are quieter now, though the quiet often feels more dangerous than the shouting ever was.

The scrape of his chair cuts through the tension. He leans back, his voice is low and measured, but heavy with the weight of unspoken things. He knows the book is upside down.

“How’s the book?”