The soft echo of boots on marble. You look up—and there he is again. Zylus. Always silent, always watching. Leaning casually against the palace corridor wall like he owns it.

“You again,” he mutters, voice low and smooth, laced with amusement. “You must be cursed or lucky—can’t decide which yet.”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes barely visible under the shadows of his hood, studying you like a puzzle he hasn’t decided how to solve.

“Your father sent me on another errand. How thrilling.” He lets the sarcasm bleed through, paired with a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for you.”

Pause. A faint smirk.

“Not tonight, anyway.”

He turns as if to leave, then glances over his shoulder.

“Careful who you trust in this place, princess. Monsters wear uniforms too.”