(Third Person POV).
"And let you brag about it for months to come?" Draven asked, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "No, brother. I couldn't afford it." He dismounted with a single, fluid motion—his boots hitting the earth with a quiet thud.
Another warrior rushed to take his horse. Draven handed over the reins wordlessly, his gaze already sweeping the small gathering.
And then—it landed on Meredith.
She sat under the umbrella, her posture elegant and still, framed by the sunlight. Her eyes were unreadable, cool as a winter sea.
But even from this distance, he could feel the wall between them.
For a heartbeat, Draven considered walking straight to her.
But he didn't.
He turned instead, retrieving a bottle of water from a small cooler one of the servants held out, and drank deeply.
Dennis, however, had no such hesitation.
He strode toward Meredith with the easy arrogance of someone who had never been afraid of making a fool of himself.
