Bellamy leaned against one of the carved support beams inside the Chief's longhouse, his arms crossed. He kept his expression passive, not allowing anything to slip through.
This will be interesting.
He watched as his father, Chief Ilyan, took his seat across from the emotionless nobleman from Albion. Lord Ross.
The man sat with the posture of a seasoned soldier, spine straight, green eyes cold like a man who was content to kill a few soldiers in exchange for breakfast.
He'd seen those kinds of eyes on some people. People who didn't have a single shred of human feeling. They were like empty barrels masquerading as humans.
His eyes flicked to the guards that had entered with their lord, standing at attention along the walls, silent as statues, save for one. The young soldier who had stayed outside with Maria.