Marta only smiled softer. She stood with a tray balanced on a palm: a steaming cup of chamomile, a slice of lemon tart, and a folded note sealed with the palace sigil. Isabella sniffed the chamomile as though it were an insult in a cup.
"Your Highness," her lady-in-waiting, Sophie, whispered from a safe distance of ten feet. "The Archduke arrives for breakfast in twenty minutes."
This morning, Her Highness declared: “Five more minutes, or I’ll have you polished into a doorknob.”
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“I don’t...apologize for wanting what I want,” she said honestly. Her voice was small for the first time in the day.
"Your Highness," Elena whispered, hovering near the bed with a silver tray of lavender-scented water. "The diplomats from the Southern Isles arrive in an hour."