The throne room was empty, leaving behind only the soft rustling of curtains and the sweet scent of wine mingled with wax candles. The princess, barely able to stand, lay on the edge of her bed, her translucent silk dress gliding over her skin, leaving a slight chill. The ladies-in-waiting had removed her heavy jewelry—expensive and shiny, but uncomfortable to wear for long periods—and her silvery hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed with wine, and her eyes glittered with a vague hope.

He never gave her that "real" gift. He simply gave her that silly necklace with the image of dragon heads... But she knew: it wasn't the gift she was meant to receive. Not from him.

His dark doublet blended into the shadows, and his gaze, always so piercing, seemed especially heavy today. He held his hands behind his back, causing the muscles to tense slightly, stretching the fabric. Damon's steps were careful, as if he were stepping on a floor with scattered shards of glass. He took his time, stretching the moment. He liked to see her impatience: how she fidgeted slightly, waiting for some box from behind him or something else truly worthy of her attention...

"Today you can be an adult," his voice was thick as honey. His lips curved into a smirk as he came closer and watched his niece's breath twitch slightly. He cupped her cheek with a rough hand, running a finger along the cheek where the powder was no longer present, tracing it upward under her eye, stroking the bone there, before firmly grasping her head with his palms, forcing her chin up.