The early morning sun had barely risen when Sephrina Vale slipped quietly through the back entrance of the D'Amaro mansion. The servants were used to her sporadic, unwelcome visits by now, and none dared ask questions. She went to the secluded courtyard where Isadora waited by the fountain, her hair in loose curls as she polished a sapphire necklace.
"You're late," Isadora quipped without looking up.
"You're insufferable," Sephrina retorted, but there was no malice. She sat beside Isadora, keeping her posture regal and distant, but a small smirk betrayed her amusement.
Over the past few days of secret meetings, whispered plans, and dangerous scheming, an odd, begrudging understanding had formed between them. Neither would admit it aloud, but the tension had loosened just enough for them to share harmless jests about the court's absurdities — including the king's ridiculous moustache.
