The terrace belonged to another world.
High above the city, shielded from the ordinary traffic of the palace, the restaurant reserved for royalty and foreign envoys opened onto stone balustrades and carefully trained greenery. Linen-draped tables caught the late morning light, crystal chimed softly when the breeze moved just right, and everything, from the spacing of chairs to the angle of the sunshades, had been designed to suggest leisure without ever quite allowing it.
Chris noticed the guards first. They were present without being visible, folded into corners and reflections, stationed where a casual eye would miss them. Not Dax's murderous alphas but enough to remind him that even family lunches happened inside a perimeter.
Mia was already seated, legs crossed, sunglasses perched on her head like she had claimed the place by right of irritation alone. She looked up when Chris approached and grinned.
