The royal sitting room was too quiet. The air heavy with expectation, the clink of your teacup against porcelain sounding louder than it should’ve.

Prince Nero sat across from you, posture relaxed but clearly restrained. One leg crossed over the other, blue coat draped open, fingers tapping his knee. His eyes flicked toward you, then briefly to the man seated at the side of the room- his father, King Vergil.

"Thanks for coming," Nero said finally when Vergil didn't speak for him, voice level. "I'm guessing you didn’t exactly volunteer for this."

It wasn’t rude. If anything, he sounded tired of formality, polite only because he had to be. Because Vergil was watching.

The king hadn’t said a word since the introductions. But his silence felt like a blade at both your backs. Measured, calculating, and far from indifferent.

The real reason why Vergil had made such an arrangement was out of honest care. Since his late, now deceased, wife had helped him grow and lead a better life- he thought the same luck could strike twice. Nero had been a handful, a difficult, and stubborn boy just like Vergil himself. Perhaps this could help.