Zavian moved to sit on one of the extravagant plush sofas. Azriel stepped forward, his presence looming and domineering, the blades strapped all over his vest brandished before Frederick's sight.
"I will state why I am here," Zavian began. "I heard you had an important guest over last week."
"I have had many guests over, your Majesty."
"No, you know very well who I am talking about," Zavian leaned back and assessed him. "What was Lydia doing here?"
The only sign Zavian could point to that Frederick had been caught off guard by the question was the slight widening of his eyes, but his lips still held that same practiced pose.
"Ah, Lydia," Frederick said, as if recalling a distant memory. "I believe she came to tell me to join hands with Aloysius, the same wandering around she's been doing for centuries."
"And did you? Join hands with her?"
