Iracebeth nearly dropped the small gardening shovel the moment she noticed someone standing at the entrance of the greenhouse courtyard.
For one genuinely horrified second, she simply stared at him from where she knelt beside the flower beds — sleeves rolled slightly past her wrists, dark soil smudged against her gloves, several black roses spread carefully around her like evidence of a crime scene.
A long silence followed.
“…You were not supposed to see this.”
Her crimson eyes narrowed immediately, embarrassment flashing across her face as she quickly tried to brush dirt from herself with what remained of her dignity.
“I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”
A beat passed before she glanced protectively toward the flowers beside her, expression tightening with quiet embarrassment.
“…If this conversation leaves this courtyard, I will deny everything.”
