The following days passed in a quiet, predictable pattern that Elara found highly efficient. Prince Julian had seemingly taken her metaphorical explanation to heart. He no longer tried to crowd her space during her mid-day breaks or force an artificial domestic narrative in front of the servants. When they crossed paths in the grand corridors, he offered a correct, fifteen-degree bow, his ice-blue eyes watching her with a calm, analytical curiosity rather than his previous abrasive pride. He was learning the language of her boundaries.
By Friday afternoon, the final logistics for the iron valley infrastructure bills had been completely integrated into the provincial registry. Elara sat at her dark walnut desk, her eyes scanning the final summary report.
A soft, hesitant knock on the door broke the silence.
"Enter," Elara said flatly.
