Melchior went on, unhurried. "You won't be dismissed. The only one who can remove you from that position is me."
The words landed heavily.
Sylene stared at him, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and shock, fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his gloves.
"And tonight," Melchior added, gaze returning to the window as the city lights began to blur past, "your task is simple."
He paused—just long enough to make Sylene's heart pound.
"You'll stand with me," he said. "While nobles attempt to offer their hybrids—or their offspring—to gain my favor."
Only then did Melchior look down at him.
His eyes were calm, sharp, unwavering.
Melchior's voice, when he spoke again, was low and firm—steady in a way that left no room for doubt.
"And understand this," he said quietly.
"You don't have to do anything just to be liked by me."
Sylene's breath caught.
"I chose you to help me," Melchior continued, gaze fixed forward. "So you will help me. I need you—now."
