"IF YOU WERE WISE, you would take the ring and run as far from the Ashford name as you could."
"I've never been particularly wise," Mailah replied, her voice a soft, defiant breath that seemed to vibrate against his chest.
Grayson's grip tightened for a fraction of a second—a telltale sign of the war raging within him—before he abruptly stepped back. He smoothed the front of his suit, his movements regaining that stiff, regal precision. The air, which had been thick with a sudden, sweltering heat, began to chill again.
"Wisdom is a human trait," he said, his voice regaining its cool, clipped edge. "And humans are notoriously poor at it. Now, sit. If I am to be held captive by my brothers' idiocy, I refuse to do so while standing like a sentry."
