"Move over."
Cherion didn't even have time to object before the large frame of the Duke slipped onto the small wooden bench right beside him. The bench was clearly designed for a single scholar, meaning their hips and shoulders instantly flushed against one another.
Across the room, Marielle didn't even bother looking up from her self-imposed torture. She had given up on the chairs entirely, opting to slide down until she was sitting flat on the floor, her back leaned against a massive shelf dedicated to ancient imperial tax laws. She had a thick botanical ledger resting on her knees, her fingers mindlessly turning pages while she let out a low, pathetic groan.
"If I die of boredom in this room, please tell the others I went down fighting a dragon," Marielle muttered to the ceiling. "It sounds much more honorable than being taken out by a chapter on poisonous nightshades."
