Her eyes widened. "Wait, that Rosenthal?"
"Yeah, that family," Anwir said dryly. Then he narrowed his eyes, mock-accusing. "Did you not realize that while I was out there dueling for the young miss, you were too focused on food, you little glutton?"
Lira gasped, scandalized. "I am not a glutton!"
"Oh really?" he tilted his head. "You had what, three mini tarts on your plate and still hovered like a hawk over the pastry tray?"
"I was inspecting my options!" she said defensively, lifting her chin. "It's called planning ahead. Besides, I hadn't eaten all day."
"Planning ahead for dessert?" he asked with a sly grin. "Truly, the mark of a future Spirit Master—deadly in battle, unstoppable at the buffet."
Lira huffed, her cheeks puffing slightly, which only made her look more like a chipmunk than a formidable wielder of spirits. "You're awful."
Anwir chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "I'm just saying, when the kitchen girls disappear during war time, I'll know where to look."
She threw a half-hearted glare at him, then grumbled, "I'm going to haunt your pantry when I become a ghost."
He leaned closer, voice a mock whisper. "Joke's on you. I don't keep snacks. Selvaria banned hoarding after the cinnamon roll incident."
Her laughter returned, light and unguarded. "That's so specific. I don't even want to ask."
He made a show of groaning. "Yes. That Rosenthal. Duchess of terrifying expectations. Maids who critique your posture in your sleep. Tutors who think eye contact is a sign of rebellion. They call it 'training,' but I'm pretty sure half of it was just torture disguised as etiquette."
Lira laughed so hard she had to set her glass down to avoid spilling it. "You can't talk like that about your employer!"
"Why not? It's the truth," he said, half-grinning.
Anwir smiled faintly, a little more relaxed. "My Mistress, yes. And I respect her, I do. But if I have to do one more breakfast where the spoons are placed in combat formation, I might flip a table."
She giggled, half covering her mouth. "That's awful. I love it."
He smirked, but then his smile faltered for a heartbeat.
'Wait. I just insulted my employer. In public. In a noble's garden. In front of someone who might one day be a demigod with an army of ghosts.'
He cleared his throat, glancing around as if expecting hidden informants to drop from the trees. Then he leaned closer, voice low and conspiratorial. "Right. That part? About the table-flipping and the spoon rebellion? That stays between us. Please. I like my head attached to my shoulders."
Lira grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is the big scary butler afraid of a little execution?"
"Terrified," he deadpanned. "The paperwork alone would kill me."
She giggled again, and Anwir smiled softly. After a moment, he picked up one of the pastries he had previously left on the bench and extended it to her. She reached for it delicately, biting on the corner. He got another for himself, popped it into his mouth, and without a thought, reached across and took the milkshake she was drinking.
He took a long drink.
Lira froze mid-bite, her eyes wide, her lips opening in slow motion. Her face turned as red as strawberries left in the sun too long.
"You just-" she said, gripping the glass that was still cool from her touch. "You just drank my milkshake."
Anwir lifted an eyebrow, wiping a bit of chocolate from the corner of his lips. "Correction. I drank a milkshake. Technically, I brought it, so-"
Her eyes widened even more. "That's an indirect kiss! That's-oh my god. You-you villain!"
He blinked, genuinely confused. "Is that… bad?"
Lira buried her face in her hands, half-laughing, half-horrified. He just did that with a straight face. I can't believe this. That's… That's practically… She peeked through her fingers, mortified and thrilled all at once.
Honestly, the whole "indirect kiss" thing was completely lost on him. Maybe it was a big deal for schoolkids or the kind of people who got flustered over holding hands, but he was a grown man-at least on the inside. Sharing a drink just felt practical, not intimate. In his old world, he'd split bottles with friends, passed around cans at late-night coding crunches, and never once thought twice about it. The idea that something as trivial as a shared glass could make someone's face go red? It was almost comical.
He watched Lira's reaction with mild curiosity, trying to piece together what he'd done to cause such a fuss. Was it really that embarrassing? If this was the kind of thing that counted as a romantic gesture in this world, he was definitely going to keep stumbling into trouble. He made a mental note: Next time, just bring two drinks. Or maybe just stick to tea.
Dense protagonist, huh? Guess that's me now. Sorry, kid—I'm not wired for blushing over borrowed milkshakes.
Anwir, still oblivious, offered her another pastry. "You alright? Your face is really red. Did I say something embarrassing?"
She shook her head, her voice muffled in her hands. "No, it's just... um... the night air or something."
He shrugged, and leaned in. "Well, if you ever need to extort me for badmouthing my goof of a boss, just remember this moment. But please, let's both keep our secrets, ok?"
Lira nodded, still giggling, her heart fluttering for reasons she didn't dare name.
They sat together, sharing pastries and the last of the milkshake, the world shrinking to a bench, a secret, and a laugh under the stars.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Kael had been searching for Lira for the better part of ten minutes now. Ten long minutes in a nest of wolves and polished masks, where every noble smile felt like a blade hidden beneath silk.
He thought he had it under control as he stepped out onto the terrace, the cool night air clawing at the flushed skin on his face. He took in the garden paths carefully trimmed, the flowering vines, the marble statue that, for once, didn't seem to be eager for a laugh, and then he found her.
Lira.
Sitting in the glow of moonlight. Laughing.
His relief flared up—then caught and resettled into an acidic, jagged, lump that got stuck in his chest.
She wasn't alone.
That fox-eyed butler was beside her, standing too close and sipping from a glass that should have belonged to Lira. There she was, a half-eaten pastry in hand, looking up at the fox-eyed butler like he just said the most hilarious thing in the world. She had color in her cheeks. And a smile that wasn't from a wine bottle.
Kael's stomach twisted. He didn't know why he was so angry.
Maybe it was the way Anwir was standing-too close. Or how Lira looked at him, like she could finally breathe.
Or how casual he was, like he belonged in her world. Like he could protect her. Like he had been the one shielding her when Marius cornered her.
Kael's boots crunched against gravel, louder than they needed to be. Both of them looked up.
Anwir's eyes met his calmly, unreadable.
Lira blinked. "Kael?"
She stood quickly, brushing crumbs from her lap, the milkshake still cradled in one hand. "I was just—um—Anwir brought me pastries."
Kael's gaze flicked to the drink. "And shared them, apparently."
Anwir tilted his head, tone light but cool. "Technically, I took a sip. Didn't know I was being watched."
Kael stepped closer, his voice clipped. "You weren't. Until now."
Lira looked between them, confused. "Kael, it's fine. We were just talking. He's not—"
But Kael wasn't really listening. Not fully. His hand was curled into a fist at his side, the old instincts from training kicking in—measure distance, check footing, watch the eyes. Anwir wasn't armed, but something about him felt dangerous. Like a sword hidden in a smile.
Anwir gave a slow blink, then looked away, addressing Lira again. "It's alright. I should head back anyway. If I'm gone too long, Selvaria might have the hounds sent out."
He picked up the last untouched pastry and placed it in her hand, a soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For the road."
Then, as he turned, he offered Kael a final glance-a fraction too long. Not mocking. But not deferential either.
"Take care of her," he said quietly, just for Kael. "This place eats kindness alive."
Kael said nothing as the butler disappeared through the golden-lit doors, leaving a strange ache in his chest.
He'd always been Lira's shield. But tonight, she hadn't needed one. Not from Anwir. Maybe not from anyone.
Lira sighed, her shoulders deflating. "He really was just being nice."
Kael did not respond immediately. He stood there, jaw clenched and the muscles of his neck spasming. When he finally said something, it was quiet. "You looked like you didn't need rescuing."
"I didn't," she said quietly, and added, "that's kind of the point."
He turned to her then, actually seeing her- milkshake in her hand, her hair playing in the breeze, shining slightly in the moonlight. She looked happy.
He hated the way that made him feel. Like everyone else was living their lives and moving on, and he was stuck standing still.
"I just didn't expect to walk out the door and see you out here… laughing like that," he spat. "Not with him."
Lira tilted her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Kael didn't know what he meant. Not really. Just that something about that moment-the milkshake, the laughter, the way Anwir had looked so damn comfortable-had gnawed at something old and raw inside him. Like the universe was shifting, ever so slightly, away from the story he thought he knew.
"He's not who he looks like," Kael said finally.
Lira frowned. "You think he's dangerous?"
"I know he is."
She looked down at the last pastry in her hand, then back toward the ballroom doors where Anwir had gone. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I think he is too."
But she didn't sound afraid.
And that, somehow, made Kael more uneasy than anything else.