Alina had just stopped eating the food the maid had brought to her, insisting that it were the King’s orders for her to finish it entirely—which of course, was impossible. And after putting on the simple light pink dress the maid had brought for her as well, she was now just walking around the room, her fingers softly touching, and feeling, what belonged to her mate—the pillows, the curtains, the bookshelves, until they rested on the opened notebook above the table Julian most probably used for work, when he was too lazy to use one of his other rooms to go through the documents.
Even his handwriting had a finesse to it that Alina immediately adored.
The door opened instantly without a knock, making her jump for a brief moment, until her eyes laid on his emerald awaiting ones.
He looked
