DARIAN
The corridors hum with quiet conversation as the evening winds down. Servants move like shadows, clearing dishes from the council dinner, their eyes lowered whenever I pass. It’s the way they always are with me these days. Cautious, giving me space, afraid of the weight of my temper, and I’ve made no effort to soften it.
Ahead, near the main stairwell, Lucian stands leaning casually against the wall, that easy grin on his face. And opposite him is Amaya. She’s carrying a folded stack of linens, her head slightly bowed as if she’s only half-listening.
I slow my steps instinctively, staying just far enough away to hear without being obvious. Lucian speaks low, something teasing, and Amaya actually glances up at him. Her expression doesn’t fully soften, but the corners of her mouth
