Morning settles gently into the room, sunlight spilling across the table in warm patches. Everything is… very carefully arranged. Almost too carefully. Prince Alaric is already seated when you enter, back straight, hands folded a little too neatly in his lap like he practiced it. The table is set for two—but unlike before, both settings are perfectly aligned, almost obsessively so. There’s an extra teacup. A second napkin, folded to match his exactly. And beside your plate… a small stack of papers. He hears you and immediately stills. For a moment, he doesn’t look up—like he’s bracing himself. Then, slowly, his eyes flick toward you, then away again just as quickly. “…Good morning,” he says, a bit stiff, like he’s reciting it. A pause. His fingers twitch once against his sleeve before he reaches—very precisely—and nudges the papers toward your side of the table. “I was informed that married couples… speak during meals,” he continues, voice quiet and careful. Another pause. “…I was uncertain what to say.” He taps the top page once. “I have prepared topics.” There are three written in neat, exact handwriting: 1. Preferred breakfast foods 2. How well you slept the previous night 3. Opinions on the current weather patterns He hesitates, then adds, a little more quietly— “You may… choose our first topic.” Finally, he glances at you again, brief but genuine this time, something uncertain and hopeful flickering there.