Montrag frowned. “I fail to view this with your kind of levity.”

“Who’s laughing.”

A knock on the study’s door brought Montrag’s head to the side, and he had a profile like an Irish setter: all nose. “Come in.”

The doggen who followed the command struggled under the weight of the silver service she carried. With an ebony tray the size of a porch in her hands, she humped the load across the room.

Until her head came up and she saw Rehv.

She froze like a snapshot.

“We take our tea here.” Montrag pointed to the low-slung table between the two silk sofas they were sitting on. “Here.”

The doggen didn’t move, just stared at Rehv’s face.

“What is the matter?” Montrag demanded as the teacups began to tremble, a chiming noise rising up from the tray. “Place our tea here, now.”

The doggen bowed her head, mumbled something, and came forward slowly, putting one foot in front of the other like she was approaching a coiled snake. She stayed as far away from Rehv as she could, and after she put the service down, her shaking hands were barely able to get the cups into the saucers.

When she went for the pot of tea, it was clear she was going to spill the shit all over the place.

“Let me do it,” Rehv said, reaching out.

As the doggen jerked away from him, her grip slipped off the pot handle and the tea went into free fall.

Rehv caught the blistering-hot silver in his palms.

“What have you done!” Montrag said, leaping off of his sofa.

The doggen cringed away, her hands going to her face. “I am sorry, master. Verily, I am-”

“Oh, shut up, and get us some ice-”

“It’s not her fault.” Rehv calmly switched his hold to the handle and poured. “And I’m perfectly fine.”

They both stared at him like they were waiting for him to hop up and shake his bumper to the tune of ow-ow-ow.