â excuse me, lord leo ? â fingertips tap her own collar, amusement bright in azure irises. the smile she wears doesnât mimic the teasing ones his siblings would often wear, however. though flora smiles, itâs one of amused acknowledgement. â it isnât my place to say, my lord, but you neednât push yourself so hard. â she offers him an excuse, as if to say the taxes of war are what causes the inner sewing of his clothing to show ( of course, their long acquaintanceship has revealed itâs not just exhaustion that is the cause of it ). â no one will fault you for taking a momentâs rest. â // @emblazureâ











