Leon didn't throw a tantrum.
Not this time.
Instead, he'd praised Sahira. Instead, he'd signed with grace. Instead, he had done what a real king should do.
He took a deep breath and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside Riven. Then, without a word, he lay back on the covers and stared up at the ceiling.
For a while, there was only silence. It wasn't awkward—just still.
Then Riven let out a small "plop" sound as he flopped beside Leon, imitating his position, arms behind his head, gaze pointed upwards.
"Nice ceiling," he said.
Leon glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "It's a ceiling."
"True," Riven mused, "but it's a very royal one. I can feel the centuries of noble ego soaked into the plaster."
That earned him a quiet snort from Leon, the ghost of a laugh.
"Why did you really do it?" Riven asked after a moment. "The signing. You could've made things difficult just to spite everyone."
