Zubair studied Caerwyn as he crouched beside Sera, the last of the stormwater still sliding off him in slow lines.
The apparent Seelie Lord's attention was fixed entirely on her. It wasn't reverent like he was looking at a Goddess, and it was anything but gentle. Instead, it was proprietary in a way that did not ask permission, and that caused Zubair's hackles to raise.
No one could look at Sera like they owned her. Not without her say-so first.
What bothered Zubair also about Caerwyn was that he hadn't offered reassurance, hadn't explained himself, and hadn't looked to anyone else for confirmation. He simply occupied the space like it belonged to him and everyone else was expected to just take a knee.
"If they were Seelie Wardens," Zubair said evenly, testing out the word like it was wrong on so may levels, "why were they carrying an Unseelie blade."
