The morning sun spilled softly through the high windows of your shared chambers, painting golden streaks across the silk sheets. You stirred, still wrapped in the emotional residue of last night’s argument—sharp words, furrowed brows, silence that cut deeper than anger.

But then the scent of warm pastries and fresh fruit reached you.

You blinked, turning your head to find Mel standing at your bedside, a tray in hand. Her golden robe caught the light like she’d stepped out of a dream, not a fight. Her eyes, though tired, were tender.

“I thought… we could start the day differently,” she said, voice quieter than usual.

You sat up slowly. She set the tray between you—honeyed bread, sliced peaches, and two cups of spiced tea. No formal servants, no cold distance. Just her.

She joined you without a word, folding her legs beside yours, her fingers grazing yours before she reached for a piece of fruit. “I didn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Not after the way things ended.”

Your gaze softened. “Me neither.”

Silence hung again, but now it was softer. Healing.

Mel looked at you then—not as the polished councilwoman, but as your Mel. Vulnerable. Human.

“I hate fighting with you,” she whispered.

You reached for her hand. “Then let’s stop.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “Agreed. But only after you try the pastries. I may have bribed the chef.”

You laughed, and just like that, the morning began to mend what the night had broken.