With the dinner ended, the royal couple retired to their chambers. The room was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candlelight, casting restless shadows across the high walls. The scent of burnt wax lingered in the air, mingled with the faint traces of jasmine perfume.
Alpheo lay stretched out on the grand bed, hands folded lazily behind his head, watching as Jasmine changed into her nightgown. She moved with the effortless grace of nobility, yet as the delicate fabric slipped over her bare shoulders, she let out a sharp sigh—one heavy with frustration.
"Our guest has no manners," she muttered "The way he ate… Gods, I've seen starved dogs with more refinement. He tore into his food as if he expected someone to snatch it from his plate."