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    "Sweet summer child," came Ella''s voice from above, "when you play dead to skip etiquette lessons, perhaps don''t wear white."


    Ella arched a brow. "Your tutors must weep into their inkstones daily."


    Anthony froze mid-bite, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk''s.


    Ella didn''t flinch. "Sunflower seeds and sarcasm, Commander. Care to sample the menu?"


    Ella''s laugh startled a nesting sparrow. "If feeding sticky-fingered princes were treason, we''d all hang before tea time."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Knew?" She plucked a bamboo leaf, tracing its edge. "That your ''grievously ill'' Shadow Prince frequents our gardens for dessert raids? Or that his guards take three minutes seventeen seconds to circle this grove?"


    "A lady counts footsteps like others count embroidery stitches." Ella met his gaze. "Tell me, Commander – when you reported Anthony''s ''illness'' to your generals last night... did their relief reek of arsenic or ambition?"


    Ethan''s grip tightened on his dagger. "The cooked dogs proverb – you taught him."


    Ethan''s throat bobbed. This close, she could see the scar beneath his collar – the one she''d watched Hunnic arrows carve in another life. "Why?"


    As she turned, Ethan''s blade flashed – not to strike, but to catch her sleeve. "You evade like a court dancer, my lady. But every dance ends."


    Boots pounded through bamboo. Shadow guards spilled into the clearing, their leader panting.


    "Young Highness! Your father bids you—"


    As the guards dragged a jam-smeared Anthony away, Ethan caught her wrist. "Who are you?"


    The wind shifted, scattering bamboo leaves between them like fractured secrets.