The scent of freshly brewed tea curled through the air, warm and rich, carrying the faintest hints of chamomile and honey. Florian settled into his seat in the gazebo, the soft creak of the chair barely audible over the rustling leaves.
Sunlight streamed through the delicate latticework, casting shifting patterns of gold and ivory over the pristine white tablecloth. It was a picturesque afternoon, the kind that invited ease and quiet conversation—though he had the distinct feeling this meeting would be anything but.
The maids moved gracefully around them, their steps light, their hands steady as they poured tea into fine porcelain cups.
He noted how their demeanor, once merely polite, had shifted—there was a newfound deference in the way they served him, an extra layer of courtesy that hadn't been there before. It wasn't just respect. It was something closer to reverence.
