"Cecil, wait."
Frederik caught his husband by the forearm halfway across the gravel drive, but the effort only slowed him by one furious step.
"Wait?" Cecil twisted back toward him, dark hair shifting across his forehead beneath the cold afternoon wind. "I have been waiting for months, Frederik. Months. And somehow Arik manages to come to this bankrupt little republic before he comes to Agaron?"
The villa rose behind the security perimeter in pale stone and dark glass, surrounded by cypress and low terraced gardens that overlooked the outer districts of Verera. Nurian guards had already noticed the commotion at the gates, although each of them was demonstrating admirable discipline by pretending not to.
Frederik lowered his voice.
"You are shouting in front of half his security staff."
"They can survive it."
"I can hear you perfectly well, Cecil."
Arik's voice carried from the front steps.
Cecil stopped.
