What Do You Intend for My Daughter?

Julia stepped forward, the soft hem of her uniform brushing against the marble floor. Her bow was low, voice calm yet steady.

"My lords," she said, each word deliberate, "as you commanded—I have brought both."

Her words cut through the gentle hum of the pavilion's night silence.

Lord Shan Suncrest raised his gaze from the steaming cup of tea before him. His golden eyes caught the lamplight, glinting like melted amber. Across from him, Ania's fork froze midair, the small piece of cake trembling slightly between the tines. Slowly, both turned their heads toward the entrance.

Victor stood there, tall and poised, Sasha beside him—her expression cautious, uncertain, but composed. The lamplight framed them in soft gold, a faint shimmer catching on Victor's dark hair.

A warm smile spread across Lord Shan's face as he set his teacup down with a quiet clink. The sound was small, but it carried authority.

"Ahh," he said, his voice deep yet oddly pleasant. "Prince Victor. You've come. Good—good."

He rose from his seat with the unhurried grace of someone who had long ruled without needing to raise his voice. His smile lingered as he stepped forward, and for a moment, the tension in the room lightened.

Ania's eyes lit up the instant she saw Victor. "Victor!" she blurted, her voice bubbling with delight. She hopped down from her chair, her tiny shoes clicking against the polished floor as she hurried toward him. "You came back!"

Her small hands clutched at his sleeve before she stopped herself, as if remembering she wasn't supposed to act too childish in front of her father. Still, her joy couldn't hide behind the faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Victor softened instantly. "Of course I did," he said gently, his tone threaded with warmth.

But while his gaze met Ania's bright eyes, his mind was already on the man standing before him. Shan Suncrest. The Lord of this grand estate. The father of Sasha. The man whose daughter had cried herself to sleep for years because of him.

And yet... here he was, smiling.

The friendliness in the man's tone caught Victor off guard. For all the tension he'd braced himself for—the cold formality, the possible anger—what met him was warmth. Unexpected. Disarming. Almost suspiciously kind.

Victor dipped his head slightly, bowing with formal grace. "Lord Suncrest," he greeted. "It's an honor to be received by you."

Shan chuckled, waving a hand casually. "No need for that. You're a guest under my roof—and a prince besides. Formality only makes the tea taste worse."

Sasha blinked, still halfway between uncertainty and affection. "Father…" she said softly, hesitant.

Lord Shan's head turned toward her. "Yes, my daughter, I called you," he said, his smile dimming into something gentler.

Her brows furrowed. "Why?"

The man sighed, as though the question itself carried a weight he'd been expecting. "Because," he said with mock seriousness, "my daughter missed her own father's birthday. Again."

Sasha groaned quietly, a hand pressing to her forehead. "Oh no…"

Ania tried to hide a laugh behind her palm, and Victor's lips twitched despite himself.

Lord Shan crossed his arms, his mock sternness fading into a sigh. "I told myself I wouldn't bring it up. But when I looked at the cake just now and realized my own daughter wasn't here to share it—well, I had to do something cruel and summon you, didn't I?"

Sasha shook her head, exhaling through her nose, half exasperation, half amusement. "You're impossible," she murmured.

He grinned. "And yet you came."

Victor couldn't help but notice how this family's warmth carried a strange ache within it. There was love here—deep and sincere—but wrapped in years of distance, guilt, and unspoken words.

Sasha's tone softened. "Alright, Father. I'm here. But tell me the real reason."

The teasing air faded from Shan's expression. He looked at his daughter for a long moment, something weary but fond behind his eyes. Then he gestured to the chairs near him.

"Sit," he said quietly. "Both of you. There's something I'd rather say directly."

The room's temperature seemed to shift.

Victor's instincts stirred immediately. That subtle tension—the kind that wrapped itself around the air before a blade was drawn.

Still, he nodded and stepped forward, his boots making no sound on the smooth floor. He took the seat opposite Lord Shan, the low table between them gleaming faintly beneath the light. Sasha hesitated for only a breath before sitting beside him, her hand resting nervously in her lap.

Ania climbed back into her seat on the other side, her curious eyes darting between her father and Victor.

Victor leaned back slightly, his gaze measured. "You have my attention, Lord Suncrest."

Shan didn't answer right away. He reached for his teacup again, turning it slowly between his fingers, his golden eyes fixed on the swirling liquid inside. Then, finally, he set it down and spoke, his tone lower now—stripped of all pretense.

"I'll be direct," he said. "I don't have the patience for courtly dances tonight."

Victor said nothing.

Shan's gaze lifted, locking onto his. "Tell me, Prince Victor," he said slowly, each word sharp, deliberate, "what do you intend to do with my daughter?"

The question fell like a stone into still water—quiet but heavy, rippling through the room.

Sasha froze. Ania's eyes widened, the fork she'd been holding slipping from her grasp with a soft clink.

Victor's pulse beat once, slow and deep, before his expression steadied.

He could feel Sasha tense beside him, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and dread. Her father had never been one to mince words—but even for him, this was blunt.

Shan didn't flinch. His gaze stayed locked on Victor, unwavering. "You brought her pain once," he said, not unkindly, but firmly. "You've returned into her life again. I won't pretend not to see what's there—the way she looks at you, the way you look at her. So tell me, Prince. What now?"

The silence that followed was heavy.

Victor's fingers flexed slightly against the table's edge. The question wasn't just a test. It was a judgment—one that came not from anger, but from a father's love.

He drew in a slow breath, his gaze drifting for a moment to Sasha beside him. Her eyes met his, searching, fragile, almost pleading.

And then he looked back at Lord Suncrest.

The room seemed smaller suddenly, the world narrowing down to the weight of that golden stare and the quiet beating of his own heart.

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