"Your Highness," came a voice from behind.
The call was respectful, pitched at a distance rather than an interruption. A guard stood near the edge of the yard, helm tucked beneath his arm with his eyes firmly averted from the two royals.
"The council is assembled. They're requesting your presence."
Levan closed his eyes, sighing. The hand at Ilaria's hair tensed imperceptibly before loosening again.
Ilaria's pout returned in an instant. "You have to go."
Levan opened his eyes, the warmth was still there, but tempered now by duty. "Unfortunately."
She shifted, stepping in slightly so she could wrap her arms around his waist and look up at him properly. "Would you be long?" She asked, sulking her way in his arms. "They always take you away when I finally have you."
His gaze softened, mindful of the subtle affection they were showing, of the servants who might pass and pretend not to see. Yet wrapped in her warmth, he found himself unable to care about anything else. "I won't."
