((Michaelli POV))

  Michaelli watched, amused. She was putting up a fight, as always. How entertaining.

  “You’re rather slow for someone who claims to be a seasoned drinker,” he mused, idly twirling his glass between his fingers.

  Tuk raised a brow, finishing the last sip of her drink. “Are you doubting my tolerance, Your Highness? ”

  Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, he held her stare. “Merely curious.”

  She exhaled, setting her empty glass on the table with deliberate ease. “Curiosity can be dangerous.”

  His smirk deepened. “And yet, here you are, indulging it.”

  A beat of silence stretched between them before Tuk sighed and reached for the bottle. “Fine. If you insist on testing my limits, let’s at least make it worthwhile.”

  Michaelli straightened. “Oh? Is that a challenge? ”

  Tuk poured herself another glass, lifting it to eye level before meeting his gaze. “You say that as if you weren’t the one provoking me.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, Royal Advisor. Name the rules.”

  She considered for a moment. “Simple. We drink. No hesitations, no pauses. The first to show any sign of weakness—a stumble, a slurred word, a lapse in thought—loses.”

  Michaelli tilted his head. “And the winner? ”

  Tuk smiled slyly. “Gets to ask the loser one question. No deflections, no tricks. A straightforward, honest answer.”

  His lips curled. “Now that is an interesting prize.”

  “Worried? ” she teased.

  Michaelli scoffed. “Hardly. I just hope you’re ready to confess your deepest secrets.”

  Tuk raised her glass. “We’ll see, Your Highness.”

  And so, the contest began.

  The first few rounds were effortless.

  They matched each other sip for sip, neither faltering nor slowing. The wine was rich, smooth, deceptively strong—but neither acknowledged it.

  Michaelli studied her closely, searching for any telltale slip, but Tuk remained infuriatingly steady. Her posture never wavered, her expression unreadable.

  Yet, something else caught his attention.

  For once, she wasn’t speaking to him as an advisor. No measured responses, no calculated deference.

  ...Just Tuk.

  And that? That was far more compelling than winning.

  “Tell me,” he murmured, swirling his next glass. “Do you always take things this seriously? ”

  Tuk chuckled, low and quiet. “Do you always push people this much? ”

  “Only the ones who amuse me.”

  “Then I should be honored.”

  Michaelli leaned in slightly. “You should be.”

  Tuk met his gaze evenly, tilting her head. “Or perhaps you should be the one who’s honored, given how much effort I’m putting into beating you.”

  His smirk widened. “Ah, so you do care about winning.”

  She hummed, sipping her drink. “I simply dislike losing without putting up a fight.”

  The challenge stretched on, the bottle growing emptier with each round.

  Michaelli noted the faint blush creeping onto Tuk’s cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from the alcohol. Her movements remained precise, but just a fraction slower, as if she were carefully maintaining control.

  Then it happened.

  She reached for the bottle, but miscalculated by a hair’s breadth. Her fingers brushed against the glass instead of gripping it smoothly.

  It was subtle, barely a hesitation.

  But Michaelli noticed.

  A slow smirk spread across his lips as he leaned back, tilting his head. “Ah. So that’s your limit.”

  Tuk exhaled through her nose, setting her glass down with deliberate composure—like a soldier conceding defeat. “I suppose I’ll have to admit, I lost.”

  Michaelli chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Pity. I was starting to enjoy our little contest.”

  Tuk rolled her eyes. “Just ask your question, Your Highness.”

  He tapped a finger against his chin, savoring the silence before finally speaking. “Why did you really try to run away earlier? ”

  Tuk blinked, caught off guard.

  For a moment, she had expected something ridiculous—perhaps a teasing inquiry meant to fluster her. But his voice carried something else. Genuine curiosity.

  She exhaled, glancing down at her empty glass.

  “…Because I didn’t want to deal with you.”

  Michaelli let out a quiet laugh, free of mockery. “Honest. I appreciate that.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand. I was already dealing with too much today. You just make things... complicated.”

  He tilted his head. “Complicated? ”

  Tuk finally met his gaze, unwavering. “You have a way of getting under people’s skin. And I don’t like giving anyone that kind of power over me.”

  Michaelli studied her, his usual smirk softening into something unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled.

  “Fair enough.”

  Tuk huffed, stretching her arms before muttering, “Are you sure you weren’t a strict professor in your past life? The way you test people is so annoying, it feels like I’m constantly defending my thesis.”

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  Michaelli raised an eyebrow. “Your what? ”

  “My thesis, Your Highness. You know—endless questioning, mind games, the need to prove myself at every turn? ” She scoffed. “You remind me of this terror professor I had back in college.”

  Michaelli, intrigued, leaned forward. “College? ” He rolled the foreign word over his tongue. “Was that the wine talking, or am I supposed to know what that is? ”

  Tuk blinked. “Oh. Right. You guys don’t have college.”

  Michaelli’s smirk returned. “I assume it’s some kind of academic torture chamber.”

  “Exactly,” Tuk deadpanned. “And you? You’d fit right in as the worst professor imaginable. Congratulations.”

  He chuckled, swirling his glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t one,” she muttered, taking another sip. Then, as if remembering something, she suddenly clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and turned toward the window.

  Michaelli frowned. “What exactly are you doing? ”

  “I remember that professor died, so I am praying,” she said simply.

  He scoffed, “Are you drunk? ”

  Tuk cracked one eye open, peeking at him with a lazy, half-lidded gaze. “No, I am praying. So Shh...”

  She clasped her hands again, lips moving in a quiet murmur.

  Michaelli watched her, a curved smile still lingering—but this time, it wasn’t out of mischief.

  He rested his chin on his palm, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass as he took a slow sip.

  His gaze never left her.

  Something about the way she sat there—exasperated yet sincere, teetering between drunken sass and unexpected sentimentality—was… oddly endearing.

  He exhaled through his nose, something close to a chuckle escaping him.

  She’s cute.

  The thought was sudden. Unbidden. And he hated it.

  Michaelli stopped swirling his wine, watching her as she finished doing her thing.

  “I didn’t know you were religious,” he mused.

  Tuk scoffed. “I’m not that religious. But believing in the Almighty doesn’t hurt.”

  Michaelli’s head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Almighty? As in… the dragons? ”

  Tuk had just taken a sip of her drink when the words registered.

  “Pfft—”

  She choked, nearly spewing her drink before dissolving into laughter, shaking her head.

  There it was again.

  That fleeting, unguarded moment where her sharp edges softened—where she wasn’t the stubborn enigma he had met before. Just Tuk. Amused, unfiltered, human.Michaelli watched her, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he leaned back, the dim candlelight reflecting off his glass.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still chuckling. “Dragons? Are you serious?” Another shake of her head—then she froze. The laughter faded as realization dawned. “Oh. Right. You guys actually believe in that.”

  His brows furrowed. “You don’t? ”

  Tuk composed herself, setting her glass down with a soft clink. She waved a dismissive hand. “Look, I won’t question your belief. So don’t question mine. Deal? ”

  “I wasn’t questioning it.” Michaelli studied her.

  A long pause of silence came between them, his expression unreadable.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What? ”

  “What? ” he echoed, feigning innocence.

  Tuk exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “Tsk. Can you stop looking at me like that? You’re making it feel like I’m about to be assassinated in my seat.”

  He giggled. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she muttered. “Just stabbing me with your gaze. Not threatening at all.”

  Michaelli leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Are you threatened? ”

  Tuk scoffed, straightening her posture. “Ha! Are you threatened? ” she mocked his tone with exaggerated flair. “That’s not even a real question.” She folded her arms. “Just imagine if we switched places—if I stared at you like that. Tell me you wouldn’t find it unsettling.”

  Michaelli held her gaze for a long moment.

  Then—unexpectedly—he laughed.

  Not a smirk. Not a dry chuckle.

  An actual, real laugh.

  The sound was rich, effortless, the kind of laughter that came when someone forgot to hold themselves together.

  Tuk blinked. Once. Twice.

  He shook his head, still smiling as he rested an elbow against the armrest, cradling his glass in the other hand.

  Truthfully, he liked the idea of her staring at him like that.

  She was clearly drunk. He could have taken this opportunity to press her further—to pry open the doors she always kept bolted shut, to unearth the thoughts she buried so meticulously.

  But for the first time…He didn’t want to.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, he just wanted to enjoy this.

  This strange, unexpected, unguarded moment between them.