He finds her on the couch in his private parlour as he returns from the Grand Palace, almost as if she was waiting for himāstill clad in bits of her uniform from combat training, the fitted breeches and loose shirt with the sleeves pushed past her elbows, she sits sideways, a pillow wedged between her back and the hard armrest, her socked feet resting on the cushions as she reads what appears to be one of her infernal romances, one of those cheap paperbacks imported from Ketterdam. The tip of her tongue sticking out and her gaze flitting across the page, she is completely engrossed in her storyāso much so that it seems like she doesnāt even notice himā, which he finds absolutely endearing.
He finds her absolutely endearing.
(She is right there where she belongs.)
Smiling to himself, he turns around to go back to his study, sheds his kefta, and gathers a small stack of papers from his deskāhe really does need to read some reportsā, then returns to the parlour.
Seemingly deaf to the sound of his steps, she doesnāt even raise her eyes from the page until he grabs and lifts her legs, which earn him a startled little shriek, reminiscent of a kitten frightened of its own reflection.
āHey!ā she laughs half a second later, her book momentarily set aside. āWhat are you doing?ā
āTaking a seat on my couch,ā he answers nonchalantly as he sits, laying her legs over his thighs, so she is trapped between his body and the armrest.
āBut Iām already sitting here,ā she teases, leaning into his shoulder.
āNoticed that, you squatterā he tells her with a grin, leaning back against the back of the couch. āBe glad I didnāt just dump you on the floor.ā
āYou wouldnāt do that.ā She sticks her tongue out at him, making him chuckle. No, he really wouldnāt do that.
āHush now, you little criminal,ā he kisses her forehead, wrapping the arm holding his papers around her shoulder, as if he means to read them over her head. āGo back to your book and let me work.ā
They both know he wonāt work, not in the long run, not with his hand on her knee and her scent in his nose, but she settles against him nonetheless, her gaze wandering back to the cheaply printed pages of her novel. Itās nice to humor him sometimes.
(Five minutes he lets out a weary sigh, so she asks Whatās wrong?, and he just shakes his head and asks what her book is about instead, and she tells him, but it bores him soon, so another five minutes later she is on her back with him over her, kissing her fiercely, her book and his reports long forgotten.)