"I knew you would return right away."
Heinz set the papers in his hands down with practiced care.
"Delilah."
His voice was calm—measured—but there was a slight edge to it. He looked up, meeting the gaze of the elderly maid who stood just beyond his desk, a crease of concern deepening on her forehead.
It hadn't even been ten minutes since she left with Florian. Ten minutes, and she was already back, lips pressed tight, hands folded too neatly at her waist.
He wasn't surprised.
Only the Obsidian family—currently, only he—was permitted direct contact with Drizelous. The eccentric tailor didn't work for just anyone.
"Your Majesty, I do not understand," Delilah began, her voice carefully composed but firm. "Surely you are aware of the implications? The princesses will catch wind of this. They're already on edge about who you plan to choose as queen—and now, you're giving Prince Florian special attention. Is he… is he your choice?"
