The soft hum of conversation filled the restaurant. Candles flickered between them, their glow casting faint reflections over silver cutlery and crystal glasses. Outside the panoramic window, Velkaris shimmered like a sea of lights, endless and alive.
Trafalgar leaned back slightly, savoring the warmth of the room. For once, there was no tension in his chest—no thoughts of duties, bloodlines, or expectations. Just quiet. Just her.
Mayla took a sip of her wine and set the glass down carefully. "So… Trafalgar," she said, her tone unsure at first.
He looked up, surprised by how naturally his name sounded coming from her lips. "What is it?"
"It still feels strange," she admitted, smiling faintly. "Calling you by just your name."
"Well, you're not my maid anymore," he said, half-smiling. "It'd be weird if you didn't."
Mayla nodded, playing idly with the edge of her napkin. "Right. Old habits, I guess."
