had been a week since her lukewarm conversation with Caspian yet the scene replayed over and over in her head.
[Just talk to him]
Aria discovered very quickly that saving lives was far easier than managing the chaos that followed.
"I hate this," she muttered for the hundredth time that morning.
No one dared reply. By now, the entire household knew that when the Duchess of Ravensdale voiced her displeasure, more work was imminent.
She stood in the center of what had once been a modest storage hall, now transformed into a bustling production floor. Long tables groaned under trays of cooling soap, bundles of dried herbs, and stacks of freshly cut bars. The air smelled aggressively clean — sharp with rosemary, lavender, and the faint alkaline bite of lye.
One of her new advisors, a thin man with perpetually anxious eyes, cleared his throat. "Your Grace, demand continues to outpace supply. The lower districts clamor for the plain bars, while the noble houses—"
