Seventy Six
“Did you know about the scars?” Zaria looked up at Callen as they walked, her steps a fraction slower than his. The corridor stretched long and quiet ahead of them, tapestries fluttering faintly in the draft. Callen didn’t answer immediately. His jaw flexed once. Then he gave a single, firm nod. “I didn’t need to see them to know they were there,” he replied at last. “I know the look of a tortured man when I see one.” Zaria suppressed a shiver. She didn’t ask how he knew. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. His hand settled more firmly at the small of her back, thumb tracing an absent line through the fabric of her blouse. For a few breaths, they walked in silence, comfortable, almost, until the sharp slap of running footsteps echoed toward them. “My prince!” A knight skidded arou
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