Lord Nixon came as promised, and now she found herself in the prince’s very private chamber, staring at the wine glass in front of her as if it were a poisoned chalice.

  The room was illuminated by the steady glow of candlelight, casting soft shadows over the polished furniture and precisely arranged decor. Unlike the grand, impersonal halls of the palace, Michaelli’s chamber bore the mark of quiet discipline.

  A pristine coat hung neatly on a stand, each button aligned as if untouched by haste. A stack of books rested on the table—not scattered, but deliberately placed, their spines unbroken despite frequent use. Near the windowsill, a pair of gloves sat folded with care, positioned as if waiting for their next purpose.

  Everything had its place. Every detail, intentional.

  And yet, despite its orderliness, this was a space not meant for formalities. It was personal.

  Too personal.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing making her uneasy.

  Prince Michaelli sat across from her in far too casual an outfit for a royal—his usual pristine attire replaced with a loose, half-buttoned silk shirt that exposed just enough of his chest to be offensive. His sleeves were lazily rolled up, and the dim lighting only highlighted the sharp definition of his arms.

  Tuk immediately snapped her gaze back to her wine. Unnecessary. Completely unnecessary.

  Meanwhile, Michaelli lounged comfortably, swirling his own glass with the air of a man who had absolutely nothing to lose and everything to enjoy. “You look uncomfortable, Royal Advisor,” he mused, lips twitching in amusement. “Could it be that you don’t usually drink? ”

  Tuk exhaled sharply through her nose. “I am a seasoned drinker, Your Highness,” she replied smoothly. “Just… not under these particular circumstances.”

  Michaelli raised a brow, feigning curiosity. “And what circumstances would those be? ”

  Tuk’s fingers curled around the stem of the glass, as if debating whether to drink from it or use it as a weapon. “Being dragged here without a choice, for one.”

  Michaelli hummed, taking a slow sip of his wine. “Dragged? I believe Nixon merely escorted you.”

  Tuk narrowed her eyes. “Against my will.”

  He laugh softly, setting his glass down. “Details, details.”

  She gritted her teeth and reluctantly took a sip—immediately regretting it. The wine was smooth, refined, obnoxiously expensive… and she hated that she couldn’t even complain about the taste.

  “So,” Michaelli swirled his wine, watching the deep red liquid move before taking a slow sip. “Is it to your taste? ”

  Tuk mirrored his movement, if only to maintain some semblance of control. “It’s... fine.”

  He huffed a small laugh. “Fine? This is one of the finest wines in the empire, and all you have to say is fine? ”

  She exhaled through her nose, keeping her expression neutral. “I didn’t realize I was required to compose poetry about my beverages, Your Highness.”

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  Michaelli flashed a knowing smile. “I suppose not. But it’s a shame. I was hoping to see a different side of you tonight.”

  Tuk took a measured sip. “One drink won’t change who I am.”

  “Hmm.” The prince leaned forward, setting his glass on the table between them. “Perhaps not. But it does lower defenses.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that your intention? ”

  “Not at all.” He smirked, reaching for the bottle to pour more into her glass. “I simply enjoy watching you try so hard.”

  Tuk’s fingers twitched slightly against the glass. “Try what? ”

  “To remain composed,” he mused, his tone light, but his eyes sharp. “It’s quite entertaining.”

  She scoffed. “If that’s what entertains you, Your Highness, then perhaps embroidery would be a more dignified obsession.”

  Michaelli only chuckled, grabbing her glass and tilting the bottle slightly—pouring just a little more than necessary.

  When the wine neared the rim, Tuk instinctively caught it, adjusting her grip.

  He leaned in just enough for his voice to graze her ear. “Don’t flatter yourself, Tuk. I don’t make a habit of watching just anyone… but somehow, I haven’t tired of you yet”

  …What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  That was too close. Too smooth.

  No, too pointed.

  That wasn’t just teasing—there was something behind it. Something sharp. Was that a warning? That she was being watched?

  Her mind is busy panicking when it happened.

  His hand covered hers—just briefly—as he steadied the glass. A touch so fleeting, so casual, it could have meant nothing.

  Except it didn’t feel like nothing.

  Tuk felt her pulse in her fingertips, not because she was affected—certainly not—but because it was him.

  Because Michaelli was the type to do things with calculated ease, and she hated the fact that she had no idea if it was intentional or not.

  She met his gaze. Damn it, what did this guy want from me this time?

  Michaelli pulled back, as if nothing had happened, picking up his own glass again. “Careful,” he murmured, lips curving into a lazy smirk. “Wouldn’t want you spilling on yourself.”

  She tenses, but keeps her face neutral—barely. She wants to shove the wine back in his smug face, but instead, she forces a breath through her nose.

  He’s just messing with you. Just another power game.

  Ignore it.

  Tuk exhaled slowly, lifting the wine to her lips without breaking eye contact. “That would be tragic.”

  “Indeed,” he mused. “Though, I wouldn’t mind if it meant getting to see you flustered.”

  Tuk smiled—sweet, controlled, “Oh, don’t worry, Your Highness. You’ll have to try much harder than that.”

  Michaelli laughed, leaning back once more. “Oh, Tuk. You should know by now—I enjoy a challenge.”

  Tuk refused to acknowledge the way the loose folds of his shirt shifted slightly when he moved, revealing far too much skin for a prince who should respect the existence of proper clothing.

  She swallowed and exhaled. “If I may be so bold, Your Highness… why am I here? ”

  Michaelli tapped a finger against the rim of his glass, as if considering his answer. “To celebrate, of course. Our victory in the trial court, your upcoming ‘vacation’—” he smirked, “—and, well… I simply wished for your company.”

  Tuk blinked. “You wished for—?” She inhaled sharply, eyes closing briefly. “I see.”

  He must be that lonely. Poor guy. Poor me.

  Michaelli leaned forward slightly. “Do you?”

  Tuk met his gaze, eyes sharp. “It seems you enjoy tormenting me, Your Highness. Might I suggest a new hobby? Perhaps a broader circle. Watching me can’t be that entertaining.”

  Michaelli chuckled, lifting his glass in mock salute. “I don’t mind… but there’s nothing quite as fun as this.”

  Tuk sighed, accepting her fate, and took another sip of the wine.

  If she was going to be dragged into a lion’s den, she might as well sip the wine like it was her last drink—and smile like she enjoyed the company.