Adelia blinked at him, forcing her features into something neutral and steady, but her mind raced too quickly to pin down a convincing excuse. She wasn’t supposed to say things like that. Not as [i]her[/i].

For half a heartbeat, she thought of laughing it off, teasing him, twisting it into some jest about sleepwalking or his own dreams. But the way he was staring at her as if he could peel back her armor and see the girl beneath—it made her chest tighten. "You misheard me,” she said at last and too quickly, the words tumbling with a stiffness that betrayed her. She bent to scoop up one of his fallen bundles, grateful to busy her hands with something, anything. “You’re overtired, Princess. Been listening to merchants haggle for hours. It’s enough to drive anyone half-mad.”

Her voice tried for cool, practiced calm, but her pulse thudded hot against her throat. Her fingers tightened around the parcel she had lifted, knuckles whitening beneath the leather of her gloves. The weight was insignificant compared to the pressure of his eyes on her. She didn’t even have to look up to feel it, the way he bore down on her with that sharp, questioning gaze. "We should get your things inside and prepare you for dinner."