As they closed the final steps to the grass, the handlers straightened in unison.
Six men in polished half-plate bowed low at the waist, the Evermoon sigil gleaming against their breastplates. Two others—clearly beast handlers rather than guards—inclined their heads more cautiously, one of them keeping a gloved hand on the looped chain around the flame lion's thick neck.
"My lady," the foremost guard greeted, his voice smooth but edged with respect. "Everything is prepared as instructed."
Arianne inclined her head with composed approval. "Thank you."
The handlers' eyes flicked to Michael. Recognition showed in a few of their faces, though none dared to comment. They offered him a polite bow, but not the deep obeisance they gave Arianne.
Michael gave them a faint nod in return, then let his gaze drift back to the creature at the center of it all.
It was impossible to pretend he wasn't curious. The beast looked far too weak for what he knew of its kind.
