Aurelia did not expect the question.
It did not come with malice, nor with sharpness. It was not spoken loudly or with accusation. Yet the moment the words left Aelira's lips, they settled between them—quiet, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
For a fraction of a second, her breath stalled in her chest.
The world around her seemed to slow, as though the garden itself had leaned in to listen. The rustle of leaves faded into something distant, the warmth of the morning sun dulled, and even the porcelain cup in Aelira's hand appeared suspended in time.
Have you ever been intimate with my son?
Aurelia did not answer immediately.
She did not look away.
She did not fidget.
But something subtle shifted in her gaze—an inward retreat, as though she had stepped back into herself to steady her footing before responding.
Behind her, Gwen stiffened.
