"My, my. Now that I look at you… you've grown into quite the handsome prince," Mavis said with a teasing smile.
Fenric didn't reply. Instead, he instinctively clasped his legs together.
Mavis tilted her head, clearly amused by his discomfort. "Oh? No witty comeback? That's not like you, Fenric."
She let the silence stretch, crossing her legs elegantly as she leaned back on her hands atop the desk. Her gaze swept over him—not just his face, but his posture, the tension in his shoulders, and the quiet intensity he now carried. He felt heavier somehow. Sharper. Dangerous.
"You've changed," she murmured, mostly to herself. "You were always clever… but now there's something else. Less bark, more bite. I wonder…" Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of monster are you becoming, little prince?"
Fenric's expression stayed cold, but the air around him seemed to shift—like the calm just before a lightning strike.
