other side of the tent. Caesar sat in his corner, tugging vigorously at something, at—
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Tobias grimaced, then winced as a pang shot through his face. Damn nose. Carefully, he tapped his fingers along its bridge—tender, clearly bruised, but the swelling felt minimal. Small victories. With his eyes averted, he dipped through the canvas flap, leaving Caesar and his tugging behind him.
The sanctuary was somewhat livelier than usual. Pippa stood by the wall preparing plates of food, and while some watched her eagerly, many others stared at Tobias. Perhaps they noticed his early appearance, or perhaps they were astonished he was alive, but for once he wasn’t concerned. Milo’s death had only played twenty, maybe thirty times in his mind that morning, and that was a blessing.
An arm plopped over his shoulders.
“Artist!” Flynn said. “You look well. How’s the nose?”
Tobias grunted. “Sore.”
“Well, it did break your fall.” Flynn squinted, examining his face. “I will say though, it looks much better than I had anticipated.”
Flynn reached for his nose, only for Tobias to swat him away. “Don’t touch it.”
“Still sour, are we? Don’t tell me you’re still skeptical of me. Did I not save your ass yesterday?”
“I’m not skeptical.”
“Good!”
“And I’m not sour either.” Tobias shot Flynn a scowl. “Just hurts to smile. My nose, remember?”
Chuckling, Flynn squeezed his shoulder, guiding him across the sanctuary. “Come, meet your friends.”
“My friends?”
“I promised you allies, did I not?”
“Just because they’re friends of yours doesn’t mean they’ll be friends of mine.”
“Of course it does! They’ll like you if I say so.”
The two skidded to a stop. A group of men sat on the floor before them, circling a slew of canvas cards. “Everyone, look who isn’t dead!” Flynn slapped Tobias on the back. “Artist, this is everyone. You know everyone, yes?”
Four men stared up at him; the Intellect and the Hunter were recognizable, but he only vaguely knew the others by their faces. Tobias managed a polite nod. “Sort of.”
“How about we all get better acquainted.” Flynn shoved Tobias down, forcing him to take a seat. “The Artist here was just telling me how badly he’d like to get to know you all. Desperate for it, really.”
“I didn’t say that—”
“We’ll start with myself, of course.” Flynn took a seat at Tobias’s side. “The leader of this fine group—”
The Hunter furrowed his brow. “Leader?”
“The tamer of stallions, lover of women, and your future Sovereign—”
“Oh, listen to this one.” The third man laughed. “So confident.”
“I believe you mean arrogant,” the Intellect said.
Flynn scowled. “And how about we follow up with a lesser man. Here we have Raphael, a Savant like yourself.”
Raphael mustered a strained half smile that sent dimples springing into his cheeks. He was a tall, slim man with coarse black hair, umber-brown skin, and round, chestnut eyes pointed blankly at the cards on the floor.
“He’s our resident sage,” Flynn said. “Expert in history, philosophy, and mathematics, yet he wastes his time with childish games.”
“You’re just upset because you never win,” Raphael muttered.
Tobias gestured toward the spread of cards. “What is this?”
“A simple memory game.” Raphael flipped a few cards, revealing painted symbols in black ink. “Tests your wit and deduction. Passes the time, really.”
Flynn snorted. “It’s a bore.”
“Is that why you fail miserably every round?” Raphael raised a black eyebrow. “Because you’re bored?”
Flynn shot him a glower. “First rule of strategy: always align yourself with an educated man. Even if he’s an ass.”
“Oh, Raphael isn’t an ass. He’s a brilliant scholar.”
The man who spoke was a Lord, as his svelte build and white teeth made that obvious. He was the smallest among them, but his large green eyes starkly contrasted his golden skin and shiny black curls, a striking look.
“Which brings us to Zander, the Cavalier,” Flynn said. “Our beacon of light, with the face of a debaucher and the heart of an angel.”
Zander smiled. “Flynn, you aim to flatter.”
“I mean it. I’ve yet to hear a single harsh word out of this man’s mouth.” Flynn grimaced. “It’s sickening. Unnatural, even.”
“Is it unnatural to be a gentleman?” Zander said.
“You don’t even need to be a gentleman. Look at you! Handsome as fuck.” Flynn eyed the man up and down and smirked. “Not as handsome as me, of course, but perfection is a high hill to climb.”
Zander laughed while Flynn continued down the line. “Moving on, we have Orion, our Hunter.”
This man was a vision of rugged masculinity, tall and sturdy with broad shoulders, solid musculature, and a strong, crooked nose. Ashy-brown hair the