Dax pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the blank screen for a beat too long.
The sharp click of the call ending still echoed in the silence of his private study, cushioned by velvet walls and framed in gold. He stood by the tall windows, overlooking the lush sprawl of the Sahan palace gardens—trimmed, perfect, as artificial as half the people who walked them.
He exhaled through his nose and lowered himself into the nearest armchair, one leg slung over the other with the elegance of a man who knew exactly how far his reach extended.
"So," he murmured aloud, to no one in particular. "Trevor Fitzgeralt finally married. And to him, of all people."
