"Is the hallway too narrow, or do you plan to give me a surprise second attack again?"
Zarius didn't even look back as he threw the words over his shoulder. His voice had that jagged, tectonic edge, but the sheer dry sarcasm of the question made Cherion stumble for a second. The Duke adjusted his cuff, though his hand still lingered suspiciously near the reddened skin of his jaw, the "battle scar" from Cherion's forehead.
Cherion, trailing a few paces back, couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at his lips. "Attack you? Your Grace, please. I'm a lover of peaceful research, not a guerilla fighter," he chirped, his soft boots scuffing against the cold stone as he scrambled to keep up with the Duke's deceptive, long-legged stride. "Ehehe, but you're sure you're okay? No bells ringing in your ears?"
