I was a little surprised to see him here.
If memory served me right, Dylan wasn't exactly the religious type — just like me. So what was he doing at Celestine Spire? A scheme, perhaps? Or maybe he was here to keep an eye on me?
He stopped beside me with that same infuriatingly calm smile. I forced a polite, artificial one of my own in return. I had questions, but I was never the type to ask first without knowing the price of the answer.
"Oh? In that case, you'd best be careful, Your Grace," I said coolly, matching his game. "Thunder usually follows when the storm rolls in."
Dylan gave a lazy shrug, unfazed by the barb. If anything, he seemed amused. Of course he'd strike back, sharper than before.
"Well then, I'd worry more about you, Your Highness. After all, thunder is the gods' wrath made loud."
And there it was. A typical Dylan move, a barb wrapped in velvet, pointed and precise. In that regard, he and Davina were really two sides of the same coin. Maybe me too.
