Elysia had said they were going to get ready.
She had meant it, too honestly, she had. Her feet had touched the wooden floor with real, determined intent.
There'd been brushing of hair, the casual threat of cold water to the face if Malvoria didn't stop kissing her neck, and even a halfway serious discussion about whether black or navy was more intimidating when worn before noon.
But then she'd entered the bathroom.
And somehow, somehow, the concept of "getting ready" had been utterly, gloriously annihilated by what followed.
The bath had been her idea. A quick one. A soak, a scrub, and a dash of decency before facing the world.
She'd filled the deep copper tub with hot water, added a few drops of fragrant oil from the little bottle she'd found on the shelf, a citrus and cedar and had just sunk in when the door creaked open.
She hadn't even opened her eyes when she said, "Don't even think about it."
Too late.
