The room was silent. Tall dark stone walls trapped the air, spreading an invisible pressure. Long candles burned in the corners, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own across the walls. The princess sat with a stiff posture, her fingers tightly clasped in her lap, her eyes uneasy.

Then, the large door slowly opened. A gust of cold wind swept in before a tall figure with a long cloak stepped inside. Xavion.

His footsteps echoed like the tolling of a slow-coming threat. When he reached the princess, he didn’t sit immediately. He just stared. Stared long, deep, sharp—until the princess lowered her gaze.

Then slowly, Xavion sat calmly, crossing his legs. He raised both hands, covering part of his face, leaving only a pair of eyes that glowed like embers behind his fingers. And between them, a small laugh escaped. Strange. Amused. As if something in his mind was deeply entertaining.

"You know?" he said softly, almost like a whisper. "Not bad..."

He grinned, dropped his hands, then rested his face on his right hand that supported his chin.

"With a dark dress like that... and a face not made for the royal stage... It feels like I’m seeing something there. A witch, maybe? Or a curse trying to disguise itself as grace?"

The princess tensed. Her breathing slow, her eyes trying to hold contact, but she knew she was now the subject on the young king’s autopsy table of curiosity.

Xavion tilted his head slightly. His eyes examined the princess’s hair, gleaming softly under the candlelight. Not a common color. Not something ordinary.

"Hey," he said lightly, almost like a child discovering a new toy. "May I touch it?"

His hand lifted, half in jest, half in threat. A slow, deliberate movement, as if drawing an invisible line between curiosity... and an intent that could not be predicted.