Something shifted in her expression—subtle, but unmistakable. It was as though a forgotten piece had suddenly fallen into place, sending a quiet ripple through her thoughts.
"Daeron…" she called, her voice no longer sharp with irritation but edged with something else—something uneasy. "That reminds me."
He glanced at her, one brow lifting slightly in mild curiosity. "You have my attention. What is it now?"
Her lips parted, but for a moment, no words came out. Then, slowly—
"The king's bastard son," she said. "I encountered him."
Daeron stilled. There was a pause—brief, but heavy.
"And?" he prompted, his tone flattening as he studied her more closely.
For the first time since she had entered the room, Seraphielle hesitated.
She drew in a slow breath, her gaze drifting—not unfocused, but distant, as though she were no longer standing in that chamber but somewhere else entirely.
