I walked through the palace halls, carrying Aleriana in my arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The sun rays filtering through the windows on either side bathed everything in a soft glow, and the polished marble floor reflected our image—a man holding a woman close, her long hair draping over my arm like silk.
She wasn't resisting. No squirming, no complaints. Just quiet.
Her arms were folded, her expression unreadable, but the slight blush on her ears gave her away.
"Left," she murmured.
I turned left.
"Straight."
I kept walking.
She guided me like this was completely normal. Like she wasn't being carried through the palace in full view of every servant and maid.
They, however, were losing their minds.
A young maid gasped so sharply she nearly choked. Another fumbled her feather duster, letting it clatter to the floor.
An older maid—appearing composed—stopped dead in her tracks, the tray in her hands wobbling.
And then the whispers started.
