Syria’s POV
“Syria, make our guest feel at home. I’ll leave him in your care for now. Take him for a walk in the garden. I just need to finish something inside,” my uncle said with a nod in my direction.
I didn’t argue. I simply smiled, putting on my usual innocent expression. It was easier that way. No questions, no resistance.
“Let’s go,” I said, walking up to Draven.
I gently hooked my arm through his, pretending to be polite. It was what was expected of me, after all. Without another word, we started walking through the garden.
The moment we stepped out into the fresh air, he started talking.
“I remember you,” he said casually. “You were with Novene at that banquet. You’re the one who spilled wine on me, right? I’d never forget that.”
I glanced at him, looking innocently guilty.
