The silence at the table was thick enough to drown in.
Even the faint clinking of cutlery had stopped.
Meriel's hand, still halfway to her glass, trembled. "You look… familiar," she said carefully, her voice a thread of unease.
Malion smiled — the kind of smile that made warmth feel like a dangerous illusion. "Do I?" he mused, folding his hands lazily on the table. "I imagine you've seen many faces, Lady Meriel. But yes… we have met before."
Aurelia's pulse spiked. Her eyes darted between them.
Before?
"When?" Liora asked curiously, oblivious to the way her mother had gone pale.
"Oh, not long ago," Malion replied, his tone silk-smooth. "Back when I had no crown — just a name and a purpose. I visited your home as a friend of Rowan's."
Meriel froze. The faintest gasp escaped her lips. Her mind reeled back to that afternoon — a tall man with a composed smile, the quiet confidence in his eyes, the sharpness of his gaze that she had brushed aside as charm.
