Malrik POV

Quillan’s hand shot out, gripping Zebulon’s chin with a punishing hold, jerking his head upward until their gazes collided.

“The secret councils. The quiet power shuffle,” Quillan said, his tone like ice sheathing fire. “Did you really think we wouldn’t catch on to how busy you’ve been behind our backs, Thatcher?” His words dripped with controlled fury. “Coward.”

He released him with a shove, as though the mere contact offended him.

Zebulon flinched but ...