Page 2 of Dragon Bodyguard
“Place hasn’t changed much,” Aleksander broke the quiet, stopping next to him.
“No. Dmitri doesn’t appreciate change,” Misha acknowledged. “Why change a thing when it’s fine as it is?”
Aleksander let out a soft scoff. “Isn’t that an issue in our line of work?” he asked. “Can’t exactly avoid stagnation if you’re not looking to innovate.”
Misha smiled mildly. “Innovation is necessary if a thing isn’t fine as it is,” he remarked. “It becomes a hindrance if all anyone ever chases is the next big thing. Dmitri is aware of this. He doesn’t waste time, effort or money on ventures that aren’t going to bring anything truly new to the table. We live in an era obsessed with minuscule tweaks to fix problems that are barely even there. Dmitri doesn’t believe in that. He would rather have someone bring him something entirely revolutionary than bring him a second version of the same thing.”
“That doesn’t sound too smart, either,” Aleksander remarked. “How can you know a thing has finished evolving if you don’t leave room for it to do just that—evolve?”
Misha cocked an eyebrow. Fair enough.
“This house isn’t in need of evolution,” he then said, making Aleksander grin and finding himself glancing over at Kristina, wondering if she was listening to the exchange.
He hadn’t meant it as a dig at her changed appearance, but he found himself still balking at it. As if the old her had died.
“It’s good to see you,” Aleksander said, reaching out a hand for a shake before clasping his other on Misha’s shoulder. “It’s been too long.”
Misha nodded. “It has. What’s new with you?”
Something blue flashed in his periphery. He barely avoided glancing her way, keeping his focus on her half-brother as Aleksander began speaking about how he was rising in the ranks more quickly than anyone had anticipated. Misha wasn’t surprised; he was genuinely pleased for his friend. Aleksander had always been a hard worker at heart. Though he tried to force himself to concentrate, Misha had to concede to the fact that he was only hearing every other word Aleksander was saying.
Ilya interrupted his son and called him over, providing Misha with a moment’s respite where he could have simply fallen back to stand by the open door. His emissarial duties were surely fulfilled. But he couldn’t keep from moving over to where Kristina was standing. She had her head tilted back, those dark locks spilling down her back as she was looking up at the painted ceiling.
He realized this was her first visit to the house.
He suddenly itched to tell her—all of them—about the British painter who had journeyed for weeks across the sea to paint the images she was taking in. The ceiling made one feel as though the entrance hall was a clearing in a forest at the foot of a mountain, the treetops stretching toward a blue sky while the mountain peak hinted high above. An optical illusion, of course, but one deftly executed.
The house had been finished in the late 1800s; it was his master’s pride and joy. There wasn’t a brick Misha didn’t know intimately enough, even if it was simply through Dmitri’s enthusiastic retelling of how he’d chosen the particulars around what the exterior structure should look like.
Misha smiled then, thinking himself lucky to be working for a friend. For some reason, he’d like for Kristina to know that he was, that he had earned Dmitri’s respect over his nearly twelve years of unwavering service. For some reason he wanted her to be clear on what his standing within the household meant, his level of responsibility, the trust he was afforded on a daily basis.
He tore his gaze off her when he noticed her begin to turn her head in his direction.
“Sorry about that,” Aleksander said, joining at his side. “So anyway, what do you think about it?”
“Hmh?” Misha mumbled, having no clue as to what Misha was referring and kicking himself for getting so distracted while they were in a conversation.
Thankfully, all Aleksander did was smile broadly, looking about ready to tussle his hair, the way he’d teasingly done when they were younger. They had always been more like brothers than anything else. However, hair-tussling wasn’t very dignified, and Misha gave him a look saying to not even think about it.
Aleksander smirked but complied.
“What do I think about what?” Misha prompted clarification.
“Mating bonds,” Aleksander said.
Kristina seemed to stiffen on the other side of him, but it could be no more than his imagination. Why would the idea of mating bonds make her stiffen anyway? Perhaps because she was alone and lonely with no prospects of ever forming one.
Misha disliked that the thought made him feel both smug and somehow sad at the same time. He shouldn’t even ponder her relationship status. She was the reason it had ended between them, and he was over it. It wasdecadesago.
“Oh, are you thinking of forming one?”
Aleksander raised his eyebrows. “Were you listening to a word I just said?”
“Aleksander,” Kristina said, making Misha’s shoulder tense in spite of his best efforts to remain casual, “you didn’t tell me this house is a palace.”
“I thought you might like it,” Aleksander smiled. “You remember Misha?”
Kristina’s eyes met his and the air in his lungs seemed to slowly evaporate. Or he was forgetting how to breathe. Either way, how was it possible that she still had this effect on him? They’d barely spent more than a few months together.
