Permission to speak with the King of Saha did not come with drama in this country. It arrived with a ton of paperwork. Signed. Stamped. Scheduled. Accompanied by an escort that radiated control like oxygen.
Marianne Lancaster followed Killian Frost through the halls with the distinct feeling she was walking through a machine that would never break down unless Dax personally wanted it to.
"Thank you for arranging this so quickly," she said.
She didn't bother pretending privacy existed. They were being watched. By Saha, certainly. By Rohan, inevitably. By Maleks, unfortunately. Dax had let certain channels remain "unplugged" on purpose, a silent invitation for spies to keep thinking they were clever while he decided when and how to close the door on their fingers.
"His Majesty prefers clarity," Killian replied, tone polite, footsteps never breaking cadence with hers. "And he prefers to receive information directly from the source."
Of course he did.
