The room was quiet again.

The mana lamps had dimmed on their own, leaving the space wrapped in a soft, amber glow. Trafalgar lay on his back, Mayla curled against him, her head resting on his chest. Her breathing had slowed, steady and warm, rising and falling in time with his heartbeat. One of his arms rested loosely around her shoulders, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against her skin.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The tension from earlier had faded, replaced by a familiar stillness, one that only came when there was nothing left to prove. Mayla shifted slightly, adjusting her position, then lifted her head just enough to look at him.

Her eyes were calm. Searching.

"So…" she said quietly. "What really happened?"

Trafalgar did not answer right away.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts, choosing his words with care. Then he turned his head to look at her.

"I met other heirs from the Eight Great Families," he said, his voice low and even. "Some of it was expected. Some of it wasn't."

Mayla did not interrupt.

"There was Borin au Dvergar," he continued. "The first time we met, it was accidental. We crossed paths without planning it. The second time, we met deliberately. We talked."

He paused, then shook his head slightly.

"Nothing important came out of it."

Her fingers traced a slow line along his chest, encouraging him to go on.

"The Zar'khael family was there too," Trafalgar said. "But I didn't meet them directly. They were present, nothing more."

Another pause.

"There was someone else," he added. "Selendra au Nocthar."

Mayla felt his chest rise with a slow breath beneath her.

"I can't explain that part properly," he said. "Not directly."

He met her gaze.

"If I did, I would die."

The words were spoken without drama. Not as a warning, not as an exaggeration. Simply as a fact.

Mayla did not react with shock. She did not pull away. She remained where she was, listening.

"I saw something," Trafalgar went on. "Something that involves me."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"It wasn't good."

Silence settled between them again.

Mayla rested her head back against his chest, her cheek pressed over his heart. She listened to its steady rhythm, grounding herself in it. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

"I understand," she said. "I know there are things you can't tell me."

She shifted closer, her arm slipping around his waist.

"You've already trusted me with one of your biggest secrets," she continued. "One that only I know."

Her fingers curled lightly against his skin.

"That's enough for me."

She tilted her head, looking up at him again.

"Whatever happens, I'll be here. If things become too heavy, you can always come to me. You can tell me anything you want. Like you always do."

Trafalgar closed his eyes for a brief moment.

He understood her. Every word of it.

And he knew he could not accept that comfort. Not now.

This was not the time to lean. Not the time to be weak.

He opened his eyes again. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

For now, this was enough.

For a moment after the kiss, neither of them moved.

Then Trafalgar shifted, carefully disentangling himself just enough to sit up. The sheets slid down his waist as he reached for his shirt, movements unhurried. There was a weight to him now, something settling back into place after the brief softness of the night.

"I need to speak with Arthur," he said quietly as he stood. "About the war."

Mayla remained lying on the bed, watching him without protest.

"We leave for Velkaris tomorrow," he continued. "There are things that need to be set in motion before then."

He hesitated, then looked back at her.

"It isn't safe for you to stay here, Mayla. Not in Morgain territory. My family likely already knows you're here. And if they do…" He did not finish the sentence.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around herself.

"I know," she said. Her voice was calm, steady. "I'm not a child, Trafalgar."

He turned fully toward her now.

"I know I can't protect myself if someone decides to hurt me," she went on. "I'm not pretending otherwise. But I don't want to hide."

She met his gaze, unflinching.

"I never have."

She drew her knees closer, her expression thoughtful rather than defiant.

"Not even when I was your maid," she said. "When people mocked me for serving the useless young master. The one who was nothing. The one everyone laughed at."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"I endured that without hiding. I'm not about to start now."

Trafalgar listened, silent.

After a moment, Mayla tilted her head slightly.

"What happens later?" she asked. "When there are more of us?"

He blinked, caught off guard.

"More of… us?" he repeated.

She looked at him, genuinely confused by his confusion.

"Your other wives," she said. "I never expected to be the only one."

She shrugged lightly.

"Political marriages are normal among the Great Families. I knew that the moment I got close to you. Honestly, I never even thought I'd end up with a Morgain in the first place."

Her gaze drifted briefly, then returned to him.

"Look at your father. He has four wives. And among the dwarves, lineage matters even more. Their family trees stretch endlessly."

Trafalgar exhaled slowly.

'Sometimes I forget this is normal here,' he thought. 'Or maybe I'm the strange one.'

"You were my first," he said at last. "I never really considered anyone else."

She smiled, soft but knowing.

"That's flattering," she said. "But it's not realistic."

She paused, then added, almost casually, "Most of your siblings are already married or engaged. Only Lysandra isn't. Even Rivena is promised to someone."

That made him still.

Most of them?

The realization did not come with surprise. It came with clarity.

He rarely ate with his family. Rarely spoke to them. Not because he was unaware. Not because he was indifferent.

But because he did not consider them family.

To Trafalgar, the Morgains were not blood bound by affection, but a den of knives wrapped in silk. A house where smiles hid intent, and kinship meant leverage. They were not people to grow close to. They were pieces on a board he had been forced onto.

Enemies, if not yet in name, then in truth.

He had learned that early. Learned it through silence, through distance, through the knowledge that one day, at the right moment, he would have to move against them.

That was why he never asked about their lives. Why he never sat at their table. Why he never cared to know who was married, who was promised, who stood where.

Because attachment would only weaken his hand when the time came.

And the time would come.

With the situation tightening, with war drawing closer and alliances shifting, knowing their positions, their ties, their vulnerabilities would no longer be optional. Information was a weapon, and he had neglected it only because he had not yet needed to strike.

'…I'll need to speak with Caelum,' he thought. 'About all of them.'

The room had gone quiet again when Mayla spoke.

"By the way," she said, her tone casual, almost idle, "who is the guest you brought with you?"

Trafalgar turned toward her, already halfway to pulling on his coat. The question made him pause.

"Oh. Her name is Aubrelle au Rosenthal."

Mayla repeated it silently, committing it to memory.

"She's involved in the war," Trafalgar added. "She's also my senior at the academy. During the last battle, she played an important role."

He kept his voice even, factual, as if listing details from a report.

Mayla watched him closely. Then she narrowed her eyes, just slightly.

"And that's all?"

The question was simple. The space it opened was not.

Trafalgar hesitated.

Was there more he should say. Should he explain why Aubrelle had stayed. Why her presence felt heavier than that of a simple ally or senior. Would Mayla understand if he tried to put it into words, or would it only complicate things further.

He did not answer.

The silence stretched, not tense, but loaded.

Instead of pressing him, Mayla shifted off the bed and stood. She reached for her clothes, moving with calm purpose as she began to dress.

That caught him off guard.

"Why are you getting dressed?" he asked.

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"I want to meet her," Mayla said simply. "And introduce myself."

He frowned. "Meet her."

She nodded as she adjusted her blouse.

"It's basic courtesy," she went on. "You brought her here. It would be strange if I didn't."

A faint smile tugged at her lips.

"And maybe I'll ask her a thing or two about what you're like at the academy."

"What?" Trafalgar said, genuinely taken aback.

She laughed softly, stepping closer and placing her hands against his chest. With a gentle push, she guided him toward the door.

"Don't worry so much," she said. "Go talk to Arthur. You said you needed to."

The door was already opening before he could respond.

He wanted to say something. That Aubrelle mattered. That he did not yet know how or why, only that her presence lingered in his thoughts in a way he had not expected. That it was not the same as what he shared with Mayla, but it was not nothing either.

The words never came.

He found himself standing in the hallway, the door closing softly behind him.

Outside, a maid was waiting, hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Call Arthur," Trafalgar said. "Tell him I'm waiting in the office."

The maid bowed and hurried off.

Trafalgar adjusted his coat and began walking.

His focus shifted, the warmth of the room fading as duty settled back into place. Euclid's troops. Their readiness. Their morale. Numbers, formations, supply lines.

War did not wait for personal complications.

Trafalgar walked toward his office, his steps steady, his posture already shifting back into that of a commander rather than a man leaving a warm room behind.

Yet despite himself, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

He found himself wondering what Mayla and Aubrelle would speak about once he was gone.

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