“What do you want to ask me, Emma?” He leans against the elevator wall, perching his butt against the handrail while casually sprawling back and crossing his ankles. His hands are in his pockets, looking at the floor. I’ve seen this Prince Carrero pose so many times before, relaxed in his domain. I eye him warily and push down my rejections to his manhandling.  

“Ray Vanquis,” I utter quietly. He looks up, but I’m unable to meet his eyes. He stands upright and steps ...