Unlike his father's austere blacks, Ayren wore a coat of midnight blue with subtle silver embroidery along the high collar, understated yet clearly costly.
"Ah, the champion returns," Ayren remarked, his voice carrying that familiar note of cultured amusement. "Bloodied but unbowed. Most impressive, Soren."
Callen's expression tightened almost imperceptibly at the interruption. "This is a private conversation, Ayren."
"Is it?" Ayren's perfect eyebrow arched as he moved further into the chamber. "I thought it was a performance review of our newest asset. Surely that concerns all Velranes, particularly after such a... spectacular demonstration."
He circled Soren with the practiced ease of a courtier, though his amethyst eyes held none of the warmth his smile suggested. "The nobles are positively quivering with indignation," he continued. "A street rat humiliating an heir in public combat? Delicious. Exactly the sort of disruption the stagnant houses need."
