Thorne appears at my side with a cup of tea, lightened with just the right amount of cream. I take a sip, and sigh. It’s perfect. No sugar, the right ratios. Then I realize the servants aren’t working this morning, so they shouldn’t have my favorite cream for tea. “You have cream?” I ask, incredulous.

“Thorne had the servants bring extra the last few days so we could save up enough for you since you need so much of it in your tea,” Silene tells me with a mischievous look I don’t understand. Thorne blushes, and the sight… It melts my insides to see the usually cool and collected charmer blushing.

“Thank… uh… thank you,” I manage to get out. The gesture is so thoughtful. It sends me spiraling, especially the fact that Silene is aware of it and seems in on it. Maybe she just appreciates seeing her betrothed show the kindness she clearly values so much. A small, hopeful voice whispers that maybe they don’t have feelings for one another, that the betrothal really is just political, like Thorne said. I smother it. Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t change the situation we’re in. Now is not the time for me to entertain such distractions. I’m hosting a ball tonight in the palace because hundreds of my people lost their homes only days ago. I shouldn’t be worried about males who are shameless flirts and likely only want me for the conquest it would be.

Thorne sits next to Silene with the tray of pastries in his hands. He takes one, then passes it to her. When it reaches me, I’m delighted to find my favorite sweet bread on the tray. “Where did you get the pastries?” Now Fionn blushes.

“There was a baker whose shop wasn’t impacted by the attack and who took in as many displaced people as he could,” Fionn says. “I bought out his entire shop yesterday. It seemed like the least I could do.” Once again, the hulking male surprises me with his gentleness.

“Time for gifts!” Silene cheers. She grabs a parcel wrapped in black paper ornamented with thayar flowers and hands it to me. “Open it, open it!” I peel the paper back and frown at the compact silver box in my hands. Opening the lid, my confusion grows when I see what’s inside. I look up at Silene. “It’s a travel makeup container,” she informs me. “It has dark kohl, dark red lipstick, eye paint—everything you need to transform into the Witch Queen on a moment’s notice. I noticed how much you rely on the makeup when you’re in public. Now you can carry that little mask with you for whenever you need it.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. It’s extremely thoughtful and affects me more than I can say. “Thank you,” I whisper.