Maya laughed softly, almost shy about admitting it.
"I used to wish I could marry one of them," she said, waving the thought away lightly. "A vampire or a werewolf. But they're not real, so it's just… silly imagination."
Darcien stiffened.
It was subtle—just a slight pause, a tightening at his shoulders—but it was there.
Maya didn't notice. She was already continuing.
"And immortality," she added thoughtfully. "Living forever sounds lonely, but also kind of beautiful. Seeing the world change, holding onto memories no one else remembers."
The room fell quiet.
Before Darcien could respond, there was a knock at the door.
"Your Highness."
Alaric stepped inside, bowing his head respectfully. "I need a moment of your time."
Darcien turned to him. "Now?"
"Yes," Alaric replied calmly.
Maya glanced at the windows, then back at them. "Isn't it a bit late for serious meetings?"
Both men looked at her.
She shrugged. "I mean, if it's important, why not just say it here? I could be of help."
They both stared at her—Darcien with restrained disbelief, Alaric with quiet assessment.
Maya tilted her head, then turned fully toward Alaric, studying him openly now.
"You look like someone I know," she said slowly, squinting a little. "I can't place it, but it's definitely there."
Alaric blinked once.
She smiled brightly. "Also—still not going to tell me your hair routine?"
Alaric's expression remained perfectly stoic. "No."
Maya sighed. "That's disappointing."
Darcien cleared his throat softly, clearly reclaiming control of the room. "You may speak, Alaric."
Alaric nodded, though his gaze flicked once more toward Maya before returning to Darcien.
The air remained calm—no alarms, no urgency—yet something unspoken lingered beneath the surface, as if Maya's words had brushed against truths neither man was ready to acknowledge.