I found Darius in the private dining room, a space far more intimate than the grand formal hall. A single table was set for two, illuminated by the soft, flickering light of a candelabra. He was already seated, a glass of deep red wine in his hand, swirling it with a slow, deliberate motion. He didn't look up as I entered, but I felt his awareness of me, a palpable weight that filled the room.
"You were with him for a long time," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the polished floorboards. It wasn't an accusation, but a statement of fact, layered with an unspoken question.
"We had a lot to discuss," I replied, taking the seat opposite him. A servant immediately appeared to pour a glass of wine for me, but Darius held up a hand, stopping him. The message was clear: this was not a casual dinner.
"Did you," Darius said, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine. His silver-grey eyes were dark in the candlelight, inscrutable and intense. "And what did you discuss?"
