Larus, thinking no one was watching, reached over and gently adjusted the ceremonial robe that had slipped off Heena's shoulder. His fingers brushed her collarbone, warm and careful.
"You have ash on your face," he whispered, and before she could respond, he'd pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped a smudge of incense ash from her cheek.
The gesture was so tender, so domestic, so 'sweet' that Heena felt something warm bloom in her chest.
"Thank you," she whispered back.
"Always," he replied, and his smile was soft and private and just for her.
"'Ahem.'"
They both jumped and turned to find the Duchess standing there with her arms crossed, fan tapping against her palm.
"The ceremony requires 'focused reverence'," she said pointedly. "Not flirtation in front of the imperial dead."
"We weren't—" Heena started.
"I saw what I saw," her aunt interrupted. "Complete the prayers properly, please."
