They settled into the chairs, the polished table between them gleaming with fresh linen and a small vase of white lilies. Arianne rested her hands lightly on her lap, studying him with a calm, curious composure that always seemed to disarm people before they realized it.
"I’ll admit," she said after a moment, her voice warm with wry amusement, "I rather thought you might take longer to arrive."
Michael gave a short, soft laugh, the sort that never quite reached his eyes.
"I pray I never see the day I make a woman wait for me."
The words left his mouth before he could reconsider them, and for one flickering instant he thought perhaps he’d spoken too lightly.
Especially because only yesterday, when he’d returned to Aurora for a few hours, he’d caught his younger sister watching some noisy, melodramatic series. He hadn’t meant to overhear. But his hearing was sharper than most. And he’d very distinctly heard the same line blaring out of her room while she swooned.
Arianne’s brows lifted just a fraction, and he felt a faint heat crawl up the back of his neck.
But then she laughed, soft and clear, and the tension slipped free.
"A dangerous vow," she said lightly, her eyes glinting. "If more men held themselves to such standards, the world would be very different."
She reached for a small silver bell resting beside the vase and gave it a single, musical ring.
Almost immediately, the door opened, and a maid in Evermoon colors entered with a quiet curtsy.
"Bring the tea leaves, please. And the sugar, milk, and hot water," Arianne said gently. "I’ll prepare it here."
The maid dipped her head again and disappeared, footsteps soft across the tiled floor.
Michael rested his hand lightly atop the small gift box in front of him, watching her in the streaming afternoon light.
He supposed, if nothing else, this was proof he’d stepped well and truly into the ranks of people for whom every conversation was half-courtesy, half-game.
But today, for once, he didn’t mind it.
Michael waited just long enough for the quiet to settle again, then shifted the little box forward across the table.
"I brought you something," he said, his voice even but pitched a touch lower.
Arianne’s eyes flicked down, curious. She didn’t immediately reach for it.
Michael lifted a hand in a faint, reassuring motion.
"Just a treat," he clarified. "Nothing more."
That seemed to satisfy her. She inclined her head, the light catching on the delicate twist of silver pinned above her ear, then drew the box closer.
It was unremarkable in appearance—a plain but finely crafted wooden case in the local style, polished smooth and inlaid with a small brass clasp.
Though the content was far from a local product, there was nothing that hinted the chocolates themselves had been carried from another world.
Only Michael knew where they truly came from.
He watched as Arianne undid the clasp with careful fingers and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in neat rows, lay the smooth, wrapped dark squares.
She drew in a faint breath, just enough for her composure to shift a fraction.
"Chocolate?" she asked, her tone warming with polite surprise.
"In a manner of speaking." He allowed the corner of his mouth to curve. "It’s a little different from what you may have tried. I thought you might appreciate the novelty."
Arianne studied the contents for a heartbeat longer, then closed the lid again with a soft click.
"I do appreciate it," she said quietly, looking up to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Sir Mic."
He inclined his head once, the gesture as measured as everything between them so far.
"It’s nothing," he murmured. "Only something sweet to balance all the other...concerns of the day." View the correct content at NovelHub.
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the maid returning with a small tray—steam rising from a polished kettle, bowls of sugar and milk arranged in careful order.
Arianne turned to oversee the preparations, her face composed once more.
But Michael caught it before she looked away entirely—the tiniest, genuine smile that had nothing at all to do with courtesy.
Michael let his gaze rest on the gleaming tabletop a moment longer, then shifted it back to Arianne as she began arranging the tea things with precise, graceful motions.
He had the sudden, unexpected thought that she might be the only person in this entire kingdom he actually found pleasant to talk to.
Even Mage Lian—who he’d known longer than anyone here, who he trusted in a careful, measured way—didn’t come close. NovelHub
Perhaps that was because he and Mage Lian had always had a business between them. No matter how familiar they grew, there was an invisible ledger running beneath every conversation. A tally of favors, trades, obligations.
He didn’t know quite what this was.
He was still interacting with her because he wanted something from her. He knew full well he might never seek her out again once he got what he wanted.
Yet here, in this bright quiet hall, watching her pour hot water into a delicate pot, he felt something simpler.
He liked her presence.
He couldn’t decide if it was the way she spoke or how she looked.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
Michael couldn’t really tell and summed it up to a matter of simple admiration.
As the tea began to steep, a light, floral scent drifted into the quiet space between them. Arianne rested her hands on the table’s edge, fingers elegant and still.
After a moment, she lifted her gaze again, studying him with that calm, level look he was coming to recognize as her way of testing someone’s honesty without ever seeming to.
"Do you like tea, Sir Mic?" she asked, her tone neither teasing nor overly formal—just curious.
Michael blinked once, then let out a breath of something like a laugh.
"I like anything," he said honestly, "so long as it doesn’t taste like medicine."