Alexander sat on the glass-topped table like a small, fragile throne, one knee tucked up beneath the sweep of his gown. The chiffon pooled around him in layered clouds the colour of faded lilies, sheer and trembling with each shallow breath.
He was reviewing the budget allocate to the palace's maintenance.
Tiny, embroidered blossoms—ivory threads threaded with a faint, pearly shimmer—climbed the fabric in sinuous vines, their petals catching the light and throwing soft, iridescent specks across his bare shoulders.
The gown's bodice was cut low at the back, the delicate straps braided with silken ribbon that matched the ribbon woven through his long, silver-tinged hair.
Small flowers—real, not stitched—were pinned among the strands, their buds half-open and fragrant, a quiet contrast to the tautness in his posture.
