The dinner continued at its refined pace, with glasses gently clinking and dishes being discreetly exchanged by the servants. The conversations around the table fluctuated between subtle provocations and formal compliments, until something more simple began to stand out — the spontaneous exchange between Sofia and Aziz.
Sitting next to her mother, the little fox girl had a sparkle in her eyes that was hard to ignore. Her words flowed with surprising naturalness, and although she maintained the composure she had been taught, the lightness of childhood slipped through between phrases. Aziz, seated between Astrid and Isis, listened with genuine attention, responding with the same calm restraint he had shown from the start.
Lady Stella, even while focused on her own dialogue with Astrid, occasionally diverted her gaze to watch her daughter. There was something almost rare about that kind of interaction: the presence of a childhood still alive, even if shaped by the demands of nobility. Astrid, for her part, noticed clearly how Sofia effortlessly broke through Aziz's defenses, drawing out lighter expressions from him, even the occasional restrained smile.
Isis, always silent, began to follow the exchanges more closely. Her gaze — used to detecting threats and weaknesses — found only frankness and curiosity, in a game of mutual discovery between two children who, in a way, had grown up too soon.
The women didn't speak about it, but the atmosphere around the table seemed to have changed. The previous tensions softened, as if the little ones at the table had opened a crack of normality in that world of masks and veiled intentions.
After casting a spell with just a thought so as not to disturb the interaction between Aziz and Sofia, Astrid leaned slightly toward Stella.
"He's beginning to let himself go," she commented softly.
Stella didn't reply immediately, but her smile said enough. It was rare to see her daughter so involved in something other than training or lessons. And it was rare to see such a young guest keep his composure even in front of a ruler like her.
"Looks like the night still holds surprises," she finally answered, resting her gaze alternately on her daughter and on the white-haired boy.
Isis smiled lightly.
"To think we came here with hearts full of strategies."
"Sometimes the best alliances are built without grand words," Astrid concluded.
Dinner went on, but now there was more than just politics at the table. There was the muffled sound of stifled laughter, subtle exchanges of glances, and a pause — however brief — in the controlled dance of intentions. For the first time that evening, the women didn't need to analyze. They simply observed.
---
Lady Stella raised her crystal glass, gently swirling the ruby liquid before taking a small sip. Her golden eyes turned again to her daughter, who now swung her feet rhythmically under the table, distracted by something Aziz had just said. The ruler exuded a mixture of restrained surprise and silent pride.
"Curious… She doesn't behave like this easily," she murmured, setting down the glass.
Astrid, who was also watching, crossed her arms on the table and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers, wearing a faint smile.
"He awakens something in people. Even unintentionally."
"Or perhaps precisely because of that," Isis added, her voice sounding like silk over steel. "There's no calculation in his eyes. And Sofia... recognizes that."
Lady Stella nodded slowly, thoughtful. Sofia's low, genuine giggles escaped between intervals of the conversation. She was less tense, less restrained. There was a vitality in her that even the best tutors couldn't forge.
Meanwhile, Aziz allowed himself small gestures — light smiles, longer sentences, shy questions that stirred Sofia's curious enthusiasm. He seemed less on alert. Still firm, still measured, but... alive. As if, little by little, some of the invisible chains he carried began to loosen under the innocent gaze of the girl.
Astrid glanced down at her glass for a moment.
"Since my Aziz was born, he's never been a child to talk much."
"But now he talks about puzzles and storms with a ten-year-old girl," Isis finished, with a light laugh.
"That's what the world sometimes stumbles upon," Stella said, watching her daughter's hands play with one of the folded napkins. "The ability that the little ones have to find doors the grown-ups don't even notice."
Dinner proceeded, but it was no longer just a political meal. The maids came and went silently, replacing main dishes with delicate desserts — fruit tarts, colorful ice creams, and small slices of cake with warm syrup. Sofia's eyes widened at the tray offered to her, as if suddenly all her nobility surrendered to the pure enchantment of sugar.
"I want the red fruit one!" she whispered excitedly, almost forgetting her manners.
Aziz observed the scene, smiling discreetly. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that behind the titles and trained gestures, she was just a child.
"Do you want some too?" she asked, glancing at him sideways.
"Maybe a small piece," Aziz replied, more out of politeness than appetite.
Sofia picked two pieces with the silver fork and served them on his plate. "That way you can try and see if you like it. If you don't, I'll eat it."
"That's a generous offer," he said, accepting with a slight nod.
Astrid watched everything silently, her expression somewhere between serenity and a certain hidden warmth in her eyes. There was a kind of quiet joy in that exchange, something no detailed plan for ascension could have foreseen.
"She's going to take him to her hideout when all this is over," Lady Stella said softly, as if confiding something inevitable.
"You know about that?" Astrid asked, surprised.
"She always has a hideout," the fox replied with a sly smile. "The current one is somewhere between the inner garden and the east tower. She built it alone, with old planks and books hidden from the library."
Isis raised an eyebrow.
"She hides books?"
"She reads more than I let others know. And... she dreams more than I'd like."
Astrid averted her gaze toward Sofia, thoughtful.
"Maybe she just needs someone to listen."
"Yeah," murmured Stella. "Maybe."
The dinner was already drawing to a close, and the cutlery lay longer on the plates. The women's conversation became sparse, contemplative. Meanwhile, Aziz and Sofia had started an animated debate about which fruit was better: strawberry or blackberry.
"Strawberry is classic," said Aziz.
"But blackberry has personality," Sofia countered, raising her spoon as if sealing the argument.
Isis crossed her arms, stifling a laugh.
"They're going to be trouble."
"Or a solution," Astrid said, her eyes fixed on the two.
Finally, Lady Stella raised her glass one last time, and all followed the gesture naturally. The dinner had not only served political alliances, but something more subtle — something none of them dared name, but all knew to be valuable.
And in that moment, between sweets and confidences, Sofia approached Aziz, leaning in to whisper:
"When this is all over... I'll show you the hideout. But only if you promise not to laugh."
Aziz didn't hesitate.
"I promise."
She smiled, satisfied, and returned to her dessert.
When the last cutlery was cleared and the room's lights began to soften, signaling the official end of the banquet, a comfortable silence settled among everyone at the table. Lady Stella exchanged one last glance with her daughter and slightly inclined her head, as if granting permission without words.
Sofia understood immediately.
With natural elegance, she slid the napkin across the table and stood. Then she turned to Aziz and extended her hand with a restrained but meaningful gesture.
"Come," she said, with a discreet smile. "I want to show you something."
Aziz hesitated for a second, searching Astrid's eyes for some sign. She only nodded lightly, with a look that said more than any explanation.
He stood, accepting Sofia's hand.
"They won't take long," Lady Stella murmured, in a tone more of care than warning.
"I promise," Sofia replied, and the two left the room together, walking side by side to the end of the reserved VIP wing corridor.
A guard discreetly opened the main door as they approached. Outside, a simple — yet elegant — carriage awaited them, already prepared, as if everything had been prearranged.
Sofia led Aziz into it without saying a word, but with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
"Did you plan this?" he asked as they entered the carriage and the door closed softly.
"Of course not," she replied, crossing her legs with childish charm. "I just... foresaw possibilities."
The carriage left silently, gliding through the city's lit streets, moving away from the restaurant until, gradually, the imposing buildings gave way to quieter paths and walled gardens.
---
The trip was short but silent. The carriage stopped near the side of one of the old towers in an isolated area of the city where few artificial lights remained. The place seemed deliberately forgotten, covered with vines and long shadows.
Sofia got down first, jumping down with the confidence of someone who already knew every stone of the path. Aziz followed in silence, his eyes observing everything around carefully.
She guided him to a hidden passage among the bushes, protected by a simple illusion. When they crossed it, a weathered wooden door appeared before them, almost camouflaged by the vegetation.
"This is it," she said, pushing the door open with a soft creak.
Inside, the space was narrow but cozy. An old storage room had been turned into a secret refuge. Colorful cushions, piles of books in makeshift corners, some drawings stuck on the walls, and an open chest with small childhood treasures. The low ceiling and stone walls gave the feeling of a silent fortress, protected from the rest of the world.
Aziz entered slowly, looking around.
Inside, Sofia was already rifling through notebooks, flipping through drawings and small notes with scribbled dates. Sometimes, she showed a page to Aziz without saying a word, as if no explanation was needed.
"This is my favorite," she murmured, pointing to a simple drawing: a figure with open wings standing on a mountain. The line was shaky, but there was strength in the image.
"Is that you?" he asked.
Sofia shook her head. "It's someone I dreamed of. Always appeared when I was afraid."
Aziz studied the drawing more carefully.
"Someone who protects?"
"Maybe. Or someone who understands."
Silence fell again, but this time it was comfortable — as if they had spoken more than words.
Sofia leaned back on the cushions, arms crossed behind her head.
"Are you afraid of anything, Aziz?"
He took a deep breath before answering.
"Yes. Of many things."
She turned her face to look at him. "Like what?"
Aziz hesitated, looking at the slanted ceiling above them.
"Of not being who they expect me to be. Of hurting someone... unintentionally. Of losing control."
Sofia was silent for a moment, then spoke with the naturalness only children possess:
"My fear is that my mother stops looking at me like she does now. Like she still sees the child I am, and not just the heir I'm going to be."
Aziz looked at her. There was too much truth in that sentence for someone her age.
"Sometimes I think you understand the world better than it deserves to be understood."
She smiled, almost shyly.
"And you carry the world as if it were made of glass."
For a moment, their eyes met — and something between them was established, silent, almost sacred. A kind of understanding that needed no labels or promises.
Aziz lay down beside her, imitating her position, eyes on the ceiling, as if they both watched something invisible.
"If I could... choose a place to exist without needing to be anything else, it would be here," he said.
Sofia turned her face, her gaze soft.
"Then stay. Whenever you want."
The words were simple, but Aziz felt as if an invisible key had turned inside him. As if, in that small space, he had found a point of balance — something that didn't come from magic, power, or mysterious systems... but from someone who simply saw him.
Not as Astrid's son.
Nor as the strange boy with silver eyes.
Just as Aziz.
She yawned lightly, pulling a cushion closer and covering part of her body with a cloth that served as a blanket.
"Do you think that when we grow up, all this goes away? These kinds of moments?"
Aziz took a while to answer. His eyes followed the path of the moonlight, which now cast slow shadows on the wall.
"I think it depends on who we grow up with."
Sofia smiled with half-closed eyes.
"Good answer."
And then, for a while, the hideout remained silent. Not an empty silence, but one that pulses, that embraces.
Aziz stayed awake for a few more minutes, listening to Sofia's steady breathing soften as she fell asleep beside him. It wasn't his intention to sleep there — but at that moment, there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.
He didn't even notice when his own eyes began to grow heavy.
And so, under the silent watch of the moon, two worlds bearing burdens too heavy for their ages found refuge in each other. Not as princes or heirs, not as pieces on a political chessboard — but as two children who, for a brief moment, could simply be.