The wedding was nineteen days away.
Not that anyone needed reminding.
The palace had somehow developed the ability to talk about nothing else.
Every corridor.
Every staircase.
Every sitting room.
Every garden path.
Every servant.
Every noble.
Every guard.
Wedding.
Wedding.
Wedding.
Wedding.
If Sebastian had to hear the word one more time, he was seriously considering exiling the entire planning committee.
Including Rael.
Especially Rael.
Unfortunately, Rael seemed immune to threats.
"You're wearing that expression again."
Sebastian looked up from the report in front of him.
"What expression?"
"The one that says you're contemplating murder."
"I am reading."
"Exactly."
Rael pointed dramatically.
"See? Murder."
Sebastian closed the report.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
The kind of slow that usually made intelligent people retreat.
Rael did not retreat.
Because Rael had long ago abandoned self-preservation.
