Cherion sat squarely on Zarius's lap, his hands planted firmly against the dark, heavy fabric of the Duke's tunic. He leaned closer, bringing his face within inches of Zarius's, their noses nearly brushing as he held Zarius's startled gaze.
"Listen to me very carefully," Cherion said, his voice suddenly turning so serious that arguing with him felt like a terrible idea. "The person who was hopelessly obsessed with Yerel was Cherion Antel. That guy is gone. He isn't here anymore. The person sitting on top of you right now is Cherion Hale. And Cherion Hale doesn't give a single damn about Yerel Ignivar."
A faint, lingering trace of hesitation remained in the depths of Zarius's eyes, though his broad hands naturally rose to rest against the sides of Cherion's waist, holding his frame steady atop his lap.
