The auction hall had emptied. Only polished floors, half-finished wine glasses, and lingering perfume were left behind.
Velrick rose from his seat, motioning to Daemon like an old friend inviting him to share a quiet drink. His guards stood back, respectful but alert.
"Prince Daemon," the king said, voice light, "I must insist you join me for a private glass. After all — it's not every day the world's most hunted heir walks into my humble little kingdom."
Nyxtriel shifted slightly behind Daemon, her eyes cold and distant, but Daemon raised a hand — calming her.
"Wine at your table?" Daemon's lips curved into a polite, practiced smile. "I didn't bring a gift. I'd hate to seem rude."
Velrick chuckled, waving away the thought.
"You've already brought the most interesting gift of all, your presence."
