"If… if the one who sits upon the Throne is Marisandra Naiadae, then… indeed.
This servant's loyalty rests with her alone."
Aether's smirk slowly deepened... Honest words yet Dangerous words.
Mareth felt the grip on his shoulder tighten. A faint knot twisted in his chest, though his face betrayed nothing. Years of discipline held firm as his expression remained calm, composed, almost indifferent.
Then grip on his shoulder finally loosened, and only then did Mareth allow himself a slow, controlled breath. Aether stepped away as he returned to his chair.
Sitting down with deliberate ease, Aether leaned back and studied him, amusement flickering behind his eyes as he spoke,
"I like you, man. Truly."
Mareth lifted his brows with a slightly surprised expression.
Aether's lips curved again, his voice calm yet thoughtful,
