Today, Claude and Emmalise finally had a moment to sit down and discuss many pressing matters—but none more surprising than what he blurted out casually:
"So… when are you going to marry me?"
Emmalise choked on her wine, coughing violently. She waved her hand at the maids, silently instructing them to leave the room.
But instead of answering, she stood and walked toward the fireplace. Resting on the mantle was a small decorative doll.
She opened it, revealing a tiny clear bottle tucked inside. With a sigh, she returned to the sofa and uncorked the bottle, pouring its contents into her glass.
"Why do you keep asking that?" she said, not looking at him. "Aren't you supposed to be busy with your envoys?"
Claude raised a brow as he watched the bottle vanish into her hand again. "They'll be fine. I already gave them a detailed protocol—step by step. The rest is in their hands now." He took a sip of his own wine, savoring the taste.
