Selena, standing beside Areon, opened her mouth, as if to speak to stop this, to say something but then closed it again. The tension between the two men was thick, palpable. Her fingers twitched at her sides, betraying the storm she hid behind her emotionless face.
And yet, despite the slap, despite the insult, Areon's protectors had not moved. Not one shadow stirred. Not one blade was drawn. Why?
Because there had been no killing intent in Razeal's movements. None. That slap had been slow, deliberate, its purpose not to harm but to insult. Any one of them could have stopped it. Areon himself could have dodged it, blocked it, broken Razeal's arm if he wished as how soft Razeal looks. But he hadn't.
He had let the slap land. Willingly.
