“There is alcohol in our rooms, mai dragocen,” he gritted out. “Your dragocen?” Xan said, nodding stiffly in thanks when Luka handed him a glass before pouring the amber liquid into it. His father knocked it back, careful not to disturb that stone collar too much, before immediately holding the glass out for a refill. “You have completed the proving ritual?” Razik’s jaw clenched again, hard eyes sweeping over them. “Dragocen is a word from our home world,” Xan tried again. “I’m aware,” Razik growled. “And you know what it means?” Razik looked visibly affronted. “Yes, no thanks to you.” “What
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