š.š: Threat
šhe scent of citrus and honey lingered in the air as Elysia picked up a slice of toast, still warm and slathered in sweet apricot jam.
Morning light poured in through the sheer drapes, casting dappled gold across her bedding. Her tray had been brought in earlier by one of the maids, and while her appetite wasn't at its strongest, she knew the importance of maintaining appearancesāespecially now.
She leaned back against the propped-up pillows, her legs tucked beneath the silk sheets, and quietly observed the soft chatter of the ladies-in-waiting around the room.
As much as she wanted solitude, she couldn't risk raising suspicion by sending them away too often. She was supposed to be recovering, after all. Fragile. Resting. Docile.
And yet, her thoughts were anything but.
