George looked down beyond his shoulder at the petite and highly dangerous warrior who stood beside him. She swirled the amber liquid in the stolen glass before taking a large drink. Her white hair was slicked back from her face, dotted with small gems set in gold. Her dress looked as though it had been wrapped around her body and tied at the waist. The fabric was thin and shimmered with metallic threads, it reminded George of something from a folktale like the skin of a golden dragon.
‘Vincenzia,’ he smiled at her, though missed his drink.
‘Vana,’ she warned, ‘don’t assume I’m not armed.’
He chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t want to fight you, even without weapons.’
‘Wise,’ she lifted her brows and took another drink, ‘good whiskey,’ she teased. Vana turned away from the windows and the dark gard
