Kir swallowed hard. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
Andrev glanced down at his wrist, doing his best to keep a straight face. “Kana gave it to me.”
Kir slewed a glance at Kana, who was delicately picking her drumstick apart and laying the bare bones in a neat row at the bottom of her bowl. “Is this true?”
“Is what true?”
“That Andrev wears your favor,” Kir said.
Kana smiled, that brilliant, blindingly sweet and utterly lucid smile of hers that made it hard for Andrev to breathe. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t he wear my favor?”
No comments:
Post a Comment