Elian's expression didn't falter, but his eyes danced with a dark, terrifying thrill.
"The cold is necessary to appreciate the sun, Julian. And now, the sun has risen."
"It hasn't risen. It's negotiated," Julian snapped.
He turned his head slightly, acknowledging Alaric's heavy, silent presence behind him before looking back at Elian.
"You've won now, but not completely. I will go to the Holy Empire." Elian's eyes lit up. "I will meet your Pope. But let us be clear on the terms, or I will walk back through those doors, and the Duke will clear this courtyard with steel."
Elian straightened, his hands vanishing into his wide, white sleeves.
"Terms, Saint?"
