DYERThe runner slows when he finally notices me.

It’s a small thing, but telling. He reins in his urgency the way one might sheath a blade mid-swing, breath hitching before discipline snaps back into place. He bows quickly, fist to chest.

“My King.”

I let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer than courtesy requires. “You were looking for me.”

“Yes.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says too quickly, then corrects himself. “Nothing yet.”

Bodie, who has followed at ...