Varon froze, the fury that had propelled him from the king's gardens now replaced by a cold, numbing shock.
The scene before him was a surreal tableau, bathed in the soft, flickering light of a single candle. Xander, his closest friend, was entangled with Queen Ulva whom Varon had just seen moments ago.
Ulva's dress was a discarded heap on the floor, and her face, usually so composed, was a mask of uninhibited passion.
Xander's back was to Varon, his broad shoulders and the familiar tattoo on his arm a confirmation of his identity.
"Well, this is great." Varon finally greeted announcing his presence.
Xander's body went rigid and so did his lover's. He pulled back from Ulva, his head snapping around to face his friend.
Even before he turned around he knew it was Varon, he was the only who knew how to barge in on him like that.
Xander's eyes flashed briefly with alarm, followed by a fleeting flicker of guilt as they met Varon's.
