The conference room at the embassy was too modern for Trevor's taste—glass walls, steel trim, and polished floors that echoed too much when people shifted in their chairs. But it served its purpose. It kept the right people aware they were being watched.
Trevor sat at the head of the table, his suit perfectly in place, his tablet open in front of him, and one elegant shoe crossed over the other beneath his seat. He wasn't lounging. He looked like he might be, but his stillness had weight to it. Every man in the room knew the difference.
Dax leaned back in his seat like this was a brunch catch-up, one leg crossed casually over the other, the usual faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn't wear his crown, just that air of entitlement that came from being both dangerously competent and completely aware of it.
"You went around my clearance," Dax said, his voice even and emotionless, in his usual kingly tone.
Trevor didn't look up. "I went around your delay."
