Chris kicked him weakly from under the desk.
"It's your job to protect me."
"Physically," Rowan corrected. "Emotionally? Socially? Politically? You're on your own, High Consort."
Chris dragged both hands down his face. "I can't do this. Not today. I'm exhausted. I'm embarrassed. My legs barely work."
His phone buzzed again.
SERATHINE—VIP COUNCIL:
Christopher. Do not panic. We only wish to discuss your posture, your breathing, and the fact that you lean into the king like he's oxygen. Sit straight.
Chris let out a strangled noise. "They're watching footage. They're actually studying me."
Rowan patted his back in solidarity. "Welcome to life with matriarchs. They study everything."
Chris dropped his face back onto the desk, voice muffled and dying.
"I want to go back to bed."
"No can do," Rowan said brightly. "You have etiquette training in two hours, a 'posture review' with Serathine, and now possibly a private lecture from Cressida."
