“Can I talk to you, Greybane?” the male asked.
“What?” Razik asked, stepping into his line of sight when his gaze lingered on Wren.
Bram refocused, squaring his shoulders. “Ariadne and I have been monitoring the southwest near Shira Forest. The rumors are true about the creatures of old waking.”
“Have there been sightings?”
“Not yet, but all the signs are there. That and…” He swiped a hand over his short black hair. “There are whisperings the same is starting near Shadowfen and Everfall.”
“Fuck,” Razik muttered. “The Commander knows?”
“Of course,” Bram said. “But he’s holding off on telling the king. I don’t know. Just feels like this is something Cethin should be aware of.”
“So you’re skirting around command?” Razik asked, arching a brow.
The warrior paled slightly, knowing that if his insubordination was reported to Tybalt, it was grounds for punishment, perhaps even dismissal from the Cadre all together. But the male lifted his chin, voice firm with conviction when he said, “My loyalty is to the king, not the Commander.”
“Then why are you coming to me?” Razik asked.
Bram’s brows knitted together. “Because you see Cethin every day, and it will be easier for you to find a moment to speak privately than it will be for me.”
Razik said nothing, but he finally gave the male a sharp nod. It wasn’t a promise he’d do anything with the information—that wasn’t his place—but it was an acknowledgement nonetheless.
Bram nodded in return, but then he hesitated. “About Wren?—”
“Leave,” Razik snarled.
The male rolled his eyes, but he turned and left, and Razik returned his attention to the females.
Kailia was listening intently as the dance madam explained the steps of the first dance she’d be expected to perform with Cethin. Razik knew it, of course. Tybalt had ensured that he knew the dances and ways of nobility as much as he’d ensured he knew how to swing a sword and shift into his dragon form mid-step. Most Avonleyans knew the traditional dances though, whether Legacy descendants, Fae, or other.
Kailia was still, her usual stoicism and unreadable mask in place. Her gaze flickered to Razik at his approach, and he saw the glimmer of panic there.
“It’s not that bad,” he said, his hand falling to Wren’s lower back. “We’ll show you, and then you can practice.”
Lia nodded, and as the madam made her way to the piano, he saw Lia brush her fingers over the hilt of the dagger at her thigh. Not to stab the female, but something he’d come to realize was a self-soothing action for her.
Guiding Wren to the dance floor, he turned to face her. Sliding his hand to her hip, he took her other hand in his, and when the first notes sounded, they both moved. There was no concentration needed. He’d attended hundreds of balls and ceremonies over the centuries, and so had Wren.
“I never thought I’d see the day Razik Greybane let another person beneath his scaly skin,” Wren mused.
“I haven’t,” he muttered, twirling her out before pulling her back in.
“You are currently in a madam’s studio so she can learn how to dance, Razik,” Wren said with a knowing look.
“I’m her guard.”
“This goes beyond your job, and you know it.”
He glanced at Lia, who was observing them with rapt attention.
“I don’t want to give Tybalt a reason to doubt me,” he said as they continued to move through the steps.
Wren’s brows drew together. “Why would he doubt you?”
“That’s not the point,” he said instead. “She has no one else, and?—”
“And you see a kindred soul,” Wren said in understanding. She spun under his arm, and when she was pressed back against him, she added, “Careful, Razik. You keep collecting us, andyou’ll have a whole family pretty soon. You can keep us with all your other treasure.”
