Malachi leaned down until his lips almost touched Zaliyah's ear, his tone laced with disdain.
"Zaliyah, you do not expect me to take your words seriously, now do you?" Malachi whispered. "
Without waiting for a response, Malachi roughly released his grip.
Zaliyah's head snapped forward, his disheveled hair spilling over his face and shoulders in a messy silvery curtain. He caught himself on the edge of the wooden window seat, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
Malachi stood over him for a second, his crimson eyes scanning Zaliyah's disheveled state with satisfaction. Satisfied that he had crushed whatever pride the youth had gathered at the banquet, the King turned on his heel, his dark silk robes swirling around him as he swept toward the door.
Before Malachi's hand could push the door open, Zaliyah moved.
