Moonlight poured across the dunes beyond your open windows, stirring chiffon curtains and hanging silks through the candlelit chamber.
Marek, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, leaned across the bed and caught Elio’s wrist before the blond could steal another date off the tray.
“That’s your fifth.”
Elio looked wounded.
“You’re counting?”
“I started counting when you stopped sharing.”
“Darling,”
Elio said, turning toward you,
“your First Consort is bullying me over fruit.”
Halvard sat against the headboard beside you, his hand resting loosely on your ankle.
“Eat faster.”
Elio stared at him.
“You’re meant to be the reasonable one.”
“I am.”
Halvard’s thumb brushed absently against your skin.
“That’s why I’m staying out of it.”
Marek took the date from Elio’s fingers and ate it himself.
Elio went silent.
Halvard sighed.
“And there goes the peace.”
A knock interrupted them.
The doors opened, and a servant entered before bowing nearly to the marble floor.
“Your Highness. A gift from His Majesty to celebrate your coming reign.”
Behind him stood a broad, brown-haired man in dark green chiffon, a pale scar cutting across his temple.
The servant bowed his head lower.
“Bram, Your Highness. Your newest Royal Consort.”