We took our seats, the soft velvet cushions sighing beneath us as we settled in. Lyall, precise and unobtrusive as ever, stepped forward and set down a tray of refreshments on the polished table between us. The glasses clinked gently as he poured the drinks—non-alcoholic, of course.
I reached for my glass, cool to the touch, and took a slow sip. "How is business these days?"
Kai—no, Ace now—swirled his drink with casual grace, the deep burgundy liquid catching the chandelier light above. "The peace treaty would open the doors to Denril's markets as well," he said, his voice carrying a well-practiced ease. "So I suppose you could say I'm on the verge of expansion."
Good. His tone, his posture, even the glint in his eye—all of it had shifted since our little reminder earlier. He sat like a man used to dominion, legs crossed at the knee, one arm thrown over the armrest, the other handling his goblet with slow deliberation. A figure carved in composure.
