Malvoria had fought in twenty-seven battles, quelled five rebellions, and brokered peace with kingdoms that once sent assassins after her name.
But nothing not even war councils with drunk warlords or fighting blindfolded in the southern campaign had prepared her for the sight of Elysia.
Elysia sitting cross-legged on a paint-splattered cushion, surrounded by swatches of fabric and magically levitating wood panels, giving the most serious expression in existence to a piece of lavender velvet.
"I'm just saying," Elysia began, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "this one catches the light better. It'll make the cradle feel like it's glowing."
"It's a piece of cloth," Malvoria deadpanned.
"It's a statement," Elysia corrected, tossing the swatch toward her wife with queenly defiance. "A soft statement."
