"You look tired," he said.
"I am," Gregoris replied.
Rafael set the cup down with more care than the sentence deserved. Some of the brightness in his expression softened at once, though not enough to erase the danger of his interest.
"And yet," he said, glancing pointedly at the catalogue, the notes, and then back at Gregoris, "you still found the strength to come in here and judge my perfectly reasonable response to family developments."
Gregoris stepped closer.
"Yes."
Rafael's mouth curved. "Honest. How unusual."
Gregoris ignored that. He looked at the open property listings, the handwritten notes, and the tea still warm on the low table, and then at Rafael again, taking in the elegant line of him on the sofa, the precise arrangement of his clothes, and the polished calm that had always hidden far more than most people realized.
The house was quiet, but the capital was not. The palace was not. The family certainly was not.
