Philia didn't even bother looking back as Cherion's footsteps faded into the distance, mostly because he was too busy pretending Cherion didn't just stage a tactical retreat right in front of him.
The sharp, mocking little remark about controlling his man was precisely the sort of coarse, unrefined behavior one expected from someone who had spent months rotting away in the northern wilderness. It was beneath a response. Philia simply smoothed the front of his embroidered coat, kept his chin lifted, and continued on his way.
Yet as he stepped through the heavy glass doors into the imperial conservatory, his calm facade began to fray around the edges.
