Nora's composure was impeccable, the kind of regal calm that screamed I'm better than you and I know it. Which, of course, meant I had no choice but to ruin it.
"So, Your Majesty," I said with mock seriousness, leaning back in my chair, "how's the empire doing these days? Still taxing people for breathing too loud?"
Her head turned slightly, and she gave me a slow, unimpressed look. "Still talking like you're funny, I see."
"Ouch," I said, clutching my chest. "Didn't realize comedy was punishable by royal decree."
"I'll make an exception," she replied coolly. "For you."
'You two have the chemistry of a knife and butter,' Bastard said.
'What does that even mean?' I thought.
{You're the butter. She's the knife. And you're about to get spread.}
Nora arched an eyebrow. "Are you done mumbling to yourself or do you need a moment?"
"I was just thinking about how humble you are," I said, deadpan. "Truly, an inspiration to arrogant people everywhere."
