Dinner continued under a veil of courteous restraint and calculated glances. While Lady Stella and Astrid exchanged words like silk-wrapped blades, Aziz found himself increasingly drawn to a different kind of energy—lighter, more unburdened, but no less intriguing.
Sofia, seated across from him, chewed a piece of at with the composure expected of a ruler’s daughter, yet her eyes—large and golden like her mother’s—sparkled with curiosity.
"You don’t talk much, do you?" she asked with a half-smile, poking at her vegetables with a fork.
Aziz raised an eyebrow, surprised by her directness. Sofia didn’t behave like an ordinary child—there was a certain poise to her, a trained restraint. Still, her words carried the easy spontaneity of soone still discovering the world despite a strict upbringing.
"Not much?" he echoed, smiling faintly. "I guess I’m just trying to match the tone of the room."
Sofia tilted her head slightly, as if pondering that answer. Her long red hair was tied into two intricate braids, likely crafted by a devoted maid. She wore a dark blue dress with silver accents—simple, yet elegant. No crown, no flashy jewelry. Just a crescent moon brooch pinned at her shoulder—subtle, but revealing.
"You don’t seem like you’re from around here," she noted, sipping her grape juice. "Not even from the north. Your energy... it feels different."
Aziz glanced down, watching the rippling surface of the juice in his glass. This girl saw more than she let on.
"You have a good sense for that, Sofia."
"Of course I do," she said, puffing her chest with pride. "I’m the daughter of the city’s ruler, after all."
Her tone held pride, but no arrogance. Aziz smiled at that. She wasn’t just a child—she was a subtle reflection of the powerful woman who raised her.
"But you’re not like the other children I saw when I entered the city," he said, eting her gaze again. "Most wouldn’t talk to like this."
"That’s because most of them are silly," she replied with a shrug. "They get distracted easily, don’t notice what’s around them. They think adults are always right. I’m not like that."
Aziz nodded. "And is that a good thing?"
"It’s necessary." Her answer ca quickly, almost as if reciting sothing she’d been taught. "My world isn’t made for those who wait too long."
A brief silence stretched between them. Despite her age, Sofia seed to grasp the weight of politics and duty. Still, she was unmistakably a child in so ways—swinging her feet under the table, arranging carrot slices by color along the edge of her plate.
Then she looked at him more closely, golden eyes sharp and focused.
"From the mont I walked into that room and saw you three together, I knew sothing was different... even before you said your nas."
Aziz held her gaze, calm but attentive. Sofia’s words mixed intuition with practice—like soone used to reading people.
"You and her... you have sothing similar. But it’s not just the hair or the eyes. It’s the silence. The way you both fill a space. Hers is softer, like a breeze. Yours... feels trapped, heavy. Like you’re trying not to break sothing inside."
He remained quiet for a mont. This girl could see past words.
"You’re very observant for your age."
"My mother says that’s the least expected of ."
She took another sip of her juice and rested her elbows on the table—a small gesture that betrayed the absence of her etiquette instructors at that mont.
"She’s strong, isn’t she?" Sofia asked, now more thoughtful. "Astrid. You can feel it... there’s sothing about her that’s not normal."
Aziz slowly lifted his gaze, touched by the girl’s insight.
"She is. She’s... special."
Sofia studied him for a while longer, then let out a soft sigh and leaned back, arms crossed.
"Are you going to be strong like her too?"
Aziz took a mont before answering. His thoughts revolved around sothing far greater—sothing stirring inside him like a slumbering beast, still undefined.
"I hope so. But first... I think I need to figure out who I am."
"Figure out who you are?" Sofia blinked. "But you’re already Aziz."
"It’s more complicated than that. Sotis we carry things inside us that we don’t even have nas for yet."
She tilted her head, thinking.
"Like a puzzle without the picture on the box?"
Aziz chuckled, surprised by the comparison.
"Yeah. Exactly that."
"I like puzzles. Sotis I spend hours working on them. My mom says they teach patience."
"And are you patient?"
"Depends." Sofia glanced around, then leaned closer. "But I don’t like when people try to hide things from . Do you think your mom and mine are playing so kind of ga?"
"Definitely."
"You seem calm. Even though you can feel it."
Aziz sighed and answered in a low voice, "Maybe I’m just used to storms."
Sofia stared at him for a few seconds, then gave a small nod and smiled.
"You talk in a weird way. But it’s cool."
"Thanks, Sofia."
She grinned, satisfied.
"When dinner’s over, I’ll show you a place. But you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even your mom."
Aziz hesitated, puzzled.
"What kind of place?"
"Secret. It’s my hideout."
"You trust with that?"
"Yes. Because you listen."
He nodded, surprised by the simplicity of her reasoning. And yet, it made perfect sense. That was exactly what she wanted—to be heard.
Sofia returned to her al with more enthusiasm, visibly more relaxed. The political ga continued around them, but in the small world between two plates and two glasses, there was sothing genuine. A pause in the dance of masks. Aziz realized that behind the trained deanor and the ruler’s blood, there was a girl who, like him, was searching for her place in a world that rarely showed kindness.
And in her, he had found sothing unexpected in this neutral city: sincerity.
A spark of truth in the middle of a ga of intentions.
Reviews
All reviews (0)