He was especially nice to Marissa when Butch’s mate left, his face showing a flash of genuine affection as he hugged her and nodded as the cop escorted her out. That slice of real was immediately replaced by his professional mask, however.
Eventually, the hostess helped her ancient hellren to his feet, and made some noise about taking him upstairs.
And then there was only one.
Elan, son of Larex, lingered before the bank of draped windows.
Qhuinn had had an eye on the guy the whole time, counting exactly how many of the Council members came up to him, shook his hand, murmured in his ear.
Each and every one.
So it was not exactly a surprise that instead of leaving like a good little boy, he made his way up to the fireplace like he wanted an audience.
Great.
As Elan approached Tohr, the closer he got, the more he had to lift his chin to keep eye contact with the Brother.
“It was quite an honor to have an audience with your king,” the gentlemale said gravely. “I hung on his every word.”
Tohr murmured something in return.
“And I’ve been struggling with something,” the aristocrat hedged. “I was hoping to speak with him directly about this, but…”
Yeah, don’t hold your breath for that, buddy.
Tohr stepped in to fill the silence. “Anything you tell me will go straight to the king’s ears, without filter or interpretation. And the fighters in this room are sworn to secrecy. They will die before they repeat a word.”
Elan glanced over at Rehv, clearly expecting a similiar pledge from the male.
“The same goes for me,” Rehvenge muttered as he leaned into his cane.
Abruptly, Elan’s chest puffed up as if this kind of personalized attention was more what he’d been hoping for out of the meeting. “Well, this has lain heavily upon my heart.”
Certainly not your pecs, Qhuinn thought. You’re built like a ten-year-old boy.
“And that is,” Tohr prompted.
Elan crossed his arms behind the small of his back and paced a bit—as if he were taking time with his words. Something told Qhuinn that they had been prepared beforehand, however—though he couldn’t have said what it was.
“I expected your king to address a certain rumor that I have heard.”
“Which is?” Tohr said in an even tone.
Elan stopped. Turned. Spoke clearly. “That he was shot back in the fall.”
No one showed any reaction. Not Tohr or Rehv. Not the remaining Brothers in the room. Certainly not Qhuinn or his boys.
“What is your source for this?” Tohr asked.
“Well, in all honesty, I thought he would be here tonight.”
“Really.” Tohr glanced at the empty chairs and shrugged. “You want to tell me what you heard?”
“The male made reference to a visitation by the king. Similar to when Wrath came and saw me at my home over the summer.” This was reported with self-importance, as if that was the highlight of Wrath’s year, right there. “He said that the Band of Bastards shot at the king whilst on his property.”
Again with the no reactions.
“But obviously, your king survived.” The pause suggested Elan was expecting details to be filled in. “He’s doing rather well, as a matter of fact.”
There was a long silence, as if both sides of the conversation were expecting the other to put the quiet to good use.
Tohr cocked his brows. “With all due respect, you haven’t told us much of anything, and gossip has been going on since the beginning of time.”
“But here’s the odd thing. He also talked to me about it before it occurred. I didn’t believe him, however. Who would arrange for an assassination attempt? It seemed…simply the boasting of a male otherwise dissatisfied with the way things were being handled. Except then, a week later, he said that the Band of Bastards had followed through, that Wrath had been shot. I didn’t know what to do. I had no way of getting in touch with the king personally, and no way to verify that the individual was speaking the truth. I let it all go—until this meeting was called. I wondered if maybe it was…well. It clearly wasn’t, but then I wondered why he wasn’t here.”
Tohr stared down at the smaller male. “It would help if you gave us a proper noun.”
Now, Elan frowned. “You mean you don’t know who is on the Council?”
As Rehv rolled his eyes, Tohr shrugged. “We have better things to do than worry about Rehvenge’s membership.”
“In the Old World, the Brotherhood knew who we are.”
“There’s an ocean between us and the motherlands.”
“More’s the pity.”
“That’s your opinion.”