[Lavinia's POV—Morning Tea, Imperial Garden]
I took a dainty sip of my tea, my eyes skimming the dramatic, ink-smeared newspaper sprawled before me.
"The people from the newspaper companies are so dramatic," I muttered under my breath.
Across from me, Osric leaned lazily against the chair, his gaze flicking over the dark, bold headline:
"TAX INCREASED—NOBLES ARE CRYING OVER THEIR BELLY."
I squinted at it and tapped the page. "I mean… I've never actually seen anyone cry over their belly. What's next, nobles wailing that their ankles are too oppressed?"
Osric's lips twitched, the corner of his mouth curving as he murmured, "Maybe they're just reflecting your words. You know—like how you always do."
I blinked. "…Excuse me?"
He looked up from the paper, eyes locking onto mine with that infuriating, deliberate steadiness. Then—slowly, shamelessly—he smirked.
