That earns me a look—a flicker of understanding that vanishes as quickly as it comes. Rhys knows better than to comment. He nods once and begins gathering his notes.
Before I can say more, there’s a sharp knock at the door.
“Enter,” I call.
The heavy oak door swings open, and the scent of jasmine and age-old authority fills the room before she even speaks. My grandmother steps inside, her spine straight as a sword, her silver hair pinned in the same style she’s worn since before I was born.
“Lady Eleanor,” Rhys says, immediately straightening and bowing.
“Commander,” she replies coolly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment alone with my grandson.”
“Of course.” Rhys bows again, then turns to me. “Your Majesty.”
“Go,” I say, waving him off. “We’ll continue later.”
When the door clos
