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"Someone you need to meet," Assad murmured.
With a sudden movement, he rose from the sofa and reached for the cup on the low table. It was clearly empty, yet the water began to rise as soon as his hand made contact. He drank it in one swift gulp before meeting my gaze. "Who is that?"
"Kayan," I replied, almost defensively, as if to throw him off. I watched his expression closely.
Assad furrowed his brow, pressing his temples as if to ease a headache. He looked like someone who had been drinking heavily all night, though there was no trace of alcohol on his breath.
"Kayan the Collector? Why that bastard?"
Few, even within his family, would refer to Kayan so dismissively as "that bastard," yet it didn't seem out of place coming from Assad.
"He might be necessary," I said, deflecting.
"Necessary?" he echoed.
"I think I need him to kill the priest," I answered, my tone more serious now.
For a moment, I had the sense that Assad was wearing a mask. The man who had just been clutching his head now regarded me with a completely neutral expression.
Then it hit me.
At that moment, I understood why the Iron-Blooded Lord trusted Assad the most and why the Council of Elders held him in such high regard
When Assad...
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