A/N:Reread the last chapter before this, I have changed it a bit since I had missed the chapter. If you hadn't read it on 29th June.
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"Noted, my love," the goddess called sweetly after her retreating daughter, without an ounce of remorse, and tucked herself contentedly back into the harbour of Phei's arms as though she had never moved at all.
And Elena, three strides down away with her pout still firmly mounted for the benefit of any watching eyes, let it slip from her face the instant her back was turned to them.
Because the pout was easy, a theatre, and Elena had been doing theatre her whole life — the spoiled princess and the daughter who sulked and stamped and got underfoot.
It was a comfortable costume and it asked nothing of her, and that was precisely why she'd worn it so long: nobody guarded their flank against a houseplant.
