Nico turned slowly.
And there they were—
A pair of sharp, familiar blue eyes staring right back at him.
Santi tilted his head, voice light but laced with something deeper.
"What are you doing out here all alone, master?" he asked with a slight, crooked smile. "It's cold."
Nico didn't answer.
Santi took a step closer, eyeing the chain in Nico's hand. His gaze lingered there, then drifted up to meet Nico's face again.
"I mean," he continued with a low laugh, "shouldn't the happy groom be at home with his pretty fiancée? Not chasing after a boy in the dark?"
Nico's jaw clenched.
"I wasn't chasing anyone," he said.
Santi raised a brow, eyes flicking down to the chain again. "Right. Just happened to be standing here like a statue holding that?"
The silence stretched between them.
Then Santi's tone softened, almost too soft. "Why do you always look like someone stole your soul when you're supposed to be the king?"
Nico looked away.
