She carries that scent of crushed mountain roses with her, Seo thinks offhandedly as he enters. The very air in Seol's rooms carry that perfume he had grown so accustomed to relate to her. Seol had taken the invitation too seriously, a little too personally than he would have found comfortable.
It had began to snow earlier in the day, driving all the street traffic into the grooves of the keep. Court ladies had borded up her balcony, covered it with thick drapes of navy blue. She stood in a pool of lamplight, sober and dressed unusually in her father's black.
"You are not supposed to stand in ceremony for anyone other than his imperial majesty, mama," he reminds her, dismissing the guards with a flick of his hand.
"Oh sitting down will defeat my purpose," she says airily and spreads her arms wide, so that the fluttering silk of her sleeves could stretch to their full width. "Well," she arches a brow. "What do you think of this?"
