No one outside these walls would ever guess the truth—that the prince-consort wove through palace life wearing a fool's smile, while his real world was the laughter of a fiery knight and the whispered spells of a violet-haired mage. And somehow, impossibly, they loved him back.
He let the thought linger, a warm ember in his chest, before clapping the tome shut with a thud that made both women jump.
"Quick thinking, all. Now — actual clothes."
The order lit a new storm. Serelith snapped her fingers and garments leapt from furniture as if answering roll call. A waist-coat unfolded in mid-air, turning slowly before landing on Mikhailis's shoulders. He shoved his arms through, fumbling with mother-of-pearl buttons while Cerys darted around him, tugging seams straight, jerking a stubborn collar flat.
"Stand still," she muttered, teeth clamped on a stray ribbon she meant to lace. Her cheeks still held dusk-pink, but her eyes were all soldier.
