Khisa rested on a cushioned bench in his quarters, the warm golden light of Gondar's late afternoon sun filtering through carved lattice windows. A gentle breeze carried the scent of incense and the quiet chirping of birds from the palace gardens. The soft rustle of Azenet's shawl still lingered in his mind, as did the look in her eyes when she'd accepted his proposal—unofficial though it still was. He would need to speak to the Emperor, present the proper dowry, and honor tradition. But her smile had been enough.
For now.
He smiled to himself, his fingers absently tracing a faint crack on the wooden armrest.
[Congratulations on your proposal, Khisa.]
Ayaan's cool, melodic voice cut through the quiet. Her presence in his mind had become familiar, comforting—even when she challenged him.
"Thank you, Ayaan," he replied aloud, though he knew she heard him regardless. "I'm quite happy with what we've accomplished here."
