Max walked through the castle hallways beside the drow in an awkward silence that somehow felt longer than necessary.
Or maybe it only felt that way because every second near that woman was strangely uncomfortable.
It wasn't fear exactly.
Nor rejection.
And it definitely had nothing to do with her being a drow.
Max knew perfectly well that dark elves carried a terrible reputation throughout most of Eldoria. Between prejudice, exaggerated stories, and centuries of conflict, they practically grew up with a social target painted on their backs.
But that wasn't what bothered him.
It was something else.
Something about her simply didn't fit.
Maybe it was the way she walked—too confident.
Maybe the way she observed everything through those glasses as though analysing every detail.
Or maybe it was that strange sensation, as if her mere presence put slight pressure on the air around her.
Thara walked with absolute elegance, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
