Maia tilted her chin and met his silver eyes with hers, not allowing herself to waver under their intensity. “Do you truly think her asking you to marry me was a compliment? On the contrary, she believes knights to be the lowest of the low,” she stated matter-of-factly. Her glance traveled up and down his body, taking in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the chiseled lines of his face that spoke of strength, and the powerful gaze that seemed to be boring into her very soul. “Even the Grand Cross himself,” she added.

Dante’s brows knitted together in mild confusion as he tried to decipher whether her words were intended as a slight or simply the truth. “I see,” he murmured, “Yet, despite her low opinion of knights, she still seeks to arrange this marriage.”

“She doesn’t care about you or me, for that matter. To her, it’s about status, alliances, and securing whatever future she deems worthy of the family name,” Maia replied. “I am nothing more than a pawn in her game.”

Dante’s eyes betrayed no emotion, no indication of what he thought of her blunt words. He simply continued walking, his heavy boots echoing against the ground. His silence unnerved her. She had expected a biting retort, some form of retaliation for her honesty, but nothing came.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she glanced ahead and saw a happy couple walking towards them. Their hands swung together, fingers intertwined in an effortless display of affection. Maia envied the ease with which the pair moved and smiled at each other as they passed by. Taking a step to the side to make room for them, she forced her lips into a polite smile—though it didn’t quite reach her eyes—before they murmured simple greetings to one another.

The scene made her acutely aware of the emptiness in her own heart, the gaping void left by years of neglect and rejection. She had long since buried the hope of finding such companionship, convinced that her stepmother had ensured she'd never experience the feeling of true love.

Maia’s gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders hunched as she continued to speak. “She thinks of me as dirt on the bottom of her shoes,” she said softly, her voice quavering. “So, she matches dirt with dirt. Her words, not mine.” A small smile graced her lips, but it was tinged with sadness. “I will never get my inheritance,” she said more firmly this time, her chin trembling with suppressed sorrow. “It’s alright. I’ve accepted it.”

Her words were raw and vulnerable, and Dante felt their weight as if she had placed her burdens directly on his shoulders. His eyes were fixed on hers, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly. Her stepmother’s cruelty had been no secret, but now he was beginning to understand the depths of her malice. Without breaking eye contact, Dante let out a single utterance.

“Hmmmmm.”

It spoke volumes in its questioning tone.

Maia’s brows knitted in confusion. “What?” Her eyes widened as the words registered, her mouth slightly agape. Her heart raced, and heat spread through her chest as she looked into his eyes. There was something different there than what she had seen yesterday. His eyes were no longer cold with disdain; instead, they twinkled with mutual understanding, making her chest ache even more from the stays of her gown cinched tightly around her.

Dante raised an eyebrow, settling into a look of consideration as he weighed his next words carefully. They both paused, and he absently shifted his weight from one leather boot to the other, a subtle sign of his internal conflict. It was evident that he was grappling with the image of Maia that had been painted for him by society, juxtaposed against the woman who stood before him—intelligent, spirited, and entirely her own person. “Maia,” Dante said slowly, almost tasting her name on his lips, “I may have misjudged you.”

The corners of her mouth twitched into a faint, wry smile as she replied, “Many people do.” She ran her fingers lightly over the intricate lace of her sleeve, feeling the softness beneath her fingertips. A sudden gust of wind sent tendrils of her dark hair dancing around her face, and with an impatient gesture, she brushed them aside and tucked them behind her ear. She straightened her posture and looked Dante in the eye. “But I am not here to change your opinion of me, Commander.”

Dante looked at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes taking in every detail of her face—the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the determined set of her jaw. He slowly nodded and offered a small smile. “Of course not,” he said softly, still smiling. “And I appreciate your candor; however, I still won’t marry you.”

Maia let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, rolling her eyes playfully. “Great! That’s one thing we have in common!” she retorted sarcastically, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Her hair danced about her face as the playful breeze carried the scent of roses and the faint sound of laughter from further down the street.

Dante’s lips curled into an unexpected smile in response to her bold words; it was a respite from the tiresome conversations with dull-witted women that had become his norm. She spoke her mind with an assertiveness that intrigued him, unafraid of potential disagreement or criticism. “I’m glad we are aligned,” he remarked, his voice filled with unexpected amusement.

Their banter felt almost like a game—one she had not played in years. There was an ease between them despite the tension simmering just beneath the surface. For a fleeting moment, Maia wondered what it might be like if the circumstances were different—if they were not being pushed toward an arranged marriage neither of them wanted.

Before the thought could linger too long, a voice called out from the distance, breaking the moment.

“Commander Cassius!” One of his knights, clad in gleaming armor that shone like molten silver against the bright morning sunlight, stood on the sidewalk, his posture rigid. “Training is starting soon.”

Dante hesitated, his eyes lingering on Maia a moment longer before he tore his gaze away with visible reluctance. “Of course,” he said. He stepped back, straightening his stance and returning to the hardened, commanding presence she had first encountered. Before leaving, however, he cast her one final glance. “I must attend to my duties. Can you see yourself home?”

Maia nodded, lifting her chin with as much pride as she could muster. “Of course,” she said.

A small smile slowly spread across Dante’s lips as his gaze trailed from her. “And don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll tell your stepmother tonight that I reject the marriage proposal.”

Her face lit up with gratitude, the guarded expression she usually wore melting away for just a moment. “Thank you,” she said and followed it with a graceful curtsy, the fabric of her gown whispering as it swept the ground. There was a twinkle in her eye as she added, “And for the record, you’re still exactly as I imagined you.”

Dante began to chuckle, the deep, rich sound like the rumble of distant thunder. His silver eyes, which often seemed to cut through people like shards of ice, now sparkled with amusement. “Am I?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with curiosity. “I’m curious to know what that means.”

“Confident, commanding, infuriatingly self-assured,” Maia teased, though her eyes, which had once been filled with challenge, now softened into something more relaxed, more open. Her words were playful, but there was a tenderness to them, as though she had finally peeled back the layers of disdain and found something beneath worth acknowledging.

Dante’s brow lifted, his expression one of mock surprise, though his amusement was genuine. “Compared to your biting words last night, that’s high praise, indeed.”

Maia folded her arms, cocking her head slightly as a grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she warned, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her jest. “I’m not in the habit of flattering knights.”

Dante crossed his arms as well, mirroring her posture, though his face was a picture of relaxed confidence. “I’ll take what I can get,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he opened his hands wide as though presenting himself as a prize on display. “But…” He let his voice trail off, his eyes dancing with mischief. “As you can see, there’s no mystery here. What you see is what you get!”

“That’s oddly refreshing,” she said, thinking of everyone who pretends to be her friend yet secretly hates her. Her eyes narrowed slightly, betraying the hurt that lingered beneath her confident exterior.

“Is it?” Dante asked. He was used to being viewed as cold and unapproachable, but something about Maia seemed to shift something inside of him. The hard shell that had guarded his emotions for so long seemed to soften, and he found himself eager to learn more.

“Indeed,” Maia replied, “In a world where people hide behind masks and pretend to be something they’re not, it’s rare to find someone who is truly genuine.”

Dante examined her with a careful eye, his thoughts swirling in his head. He was quiet for a moment before speaking, his tone soft. “Perhaps we have more in common than I thought,” he said slowly, never once breaking eye contact.

“Maybe we do,” Maia agreed. For the first time in a long while, both Dante and Maia felt a connection that went beyond mere circumstance or duty—a bond forged by mutual respect and a shared understanding.