"Fine day, isn't it?" Jarza's voice carried easily down the marble hall, deep and steady as the faint clink of his mail hidden beneath silk. The sound was subtle but inescapable, like a coin rattling in a pocket.
Alpheo threw him a sidelong glance, one brow arched.
The Legate of the Primogenia only shrugged, rolling his shoulders in the easy way of a man who had lived too long in armor to shed the habit. "Feels wrong without it. Naked you could say."
"You never go without it?" Alpheo asked, half-curious, half-incredulous. He could not imagine the man could ever be at ease with it for the whole day.
"Only after a long battle or to get to bed." Jarza's chin dipped toward the prince. "You should do the same, I am sure your head would be worth much more than mine for an assassin.You have many enemies after all"
