The grand ball

[Ryker]

He would be stupid to ignore the outline of another. Male, tall, broad-shouldered, strong. He carried himself like someone with training. A threat. Always threats. Potentially, anyway.

Ryker was otherwise dismissive after the initial scan as his attention was drawn elsewhere. Most people forgot that the Kremlin was a fortress built primarily for defense, intimidation and strength. The palaces within these walls were a thousand years old, breached by very few. Armies of old broke and bled on these walls. Not until the Revolution did it truly fall. And how did that revolution come about? Traitors from within. People trusted until they turned. A rot that festered inside broke the dynasty of the world’s most powerful rulers.

Ryker smiled slightly to himself. It was happening again.

Until a voice broke the amused train of thought.

He turned to regard the voice. Russian. Moscovite, specifically, by accent alone. The man offered something.

As this was hardly the first time such correspondence was traded, Ryker shrugged to himself and went closer to accept the note.

The messenger was only regarded another moment as Ryker tucked the note into an inner pocket.

“Thanks,”
he said off-handedly.
“Who’s it from?”
he asked, clearly not interested in reading it that exact moment.