Leon's hair was a sensitive subject. Always meticulously styled, not a strand out of place. He did that himself. And on the days he was lazy, he let his mane free.
And no one—not his servants, not his mother, not even the royal barbers—was allowed to touch it. Riven knew that. He read the story. It had something to do with his sisters.
The major question was, why was he the king when he had sisters? It was a matriarchal society after all, so why wasn't one of them the Queen? This was a question that remained unanswered along with why his hair was such a touchy subject.
Riven's offer had been a test, in a way—a playful one, but still a test. A way to gauge where he stood in Leon's world. And Leon's retreat made the answer clear: they weren't close. Not yet.
The walls were still up. High, carefully constructed, and guarded with reflexive arrogance.
But Riven wasn't discouraged. If anything, he was more curious than before.
