"You know, this cake is surprisingly decent," Gillian said, taking a small bite before dabbing the corner of his mouth with a crisp linen napkin. "The baker used real mountain berries for the preserve. A rare touch for the royal kitchens."
Across the sprawling reception room, Zarius didn't even turn around. He remained standing near the high window, his broad shoulders squared, gazing out at the vast stone courtyards below.
Zarius couldn't care less about the prince's tea, the cake, or the delicate, eggshell-thin porcelain cups Gillian was leisurely enjoying. His mind was entirely fixated on the absurd political maneuver that had been pulled on him earlier that morning without so much as a whisper of warning.
